THE 

DOMINANT    SEVENTH 


A  MUSICAL  STORY 


BY 

KATE  ELIZABETH   CLARK 


NEW    YORK 
D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 

1890 


C2<f 


COPYRIGHT,  1890, 
By  D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


PRELUDE. 


"OuR  existence  in  life  is  a  continued  alternating  of 
desires  and  gratifications.  The  will  is  forever  wanting, 
and  it  strives  continually  to  gratify  its  wants.  We 
really  know  but  two  states  while  in  the  body — the  state 
of  want  and  the  state  of  satisfaction;  the  conditions  of 
desire  and  gratification.  Analogous  to  this,  music  has 
but  two  leading  chords,  from  which  all  others  are  de 
rived.  These  are  the  tonic  chord  and  the  dominant 
chord  of  the  seventh.  The  first  is  a  chord  of  rest  and 
calmness,  the  second  is  a  chord  of  unrest,  of  longing 
and  striving.  Music  is  a  continued  succession  of  these 
two  chords,  and  in  this  is  represented  our  never-ceasing 
desires  as  followed  by  gratification.  Thus  the  composer 
reveals  the  inmost  condition  of  our  souls  ;  he  speaks  the 
greatest  truth,  and  speaks  it  in  a  language  which  reason 
comprehends  not,  but  a  language  which  is  understood 
alike  by  all  men  the  world  over."— SCHOPENHAUER. 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  THAT  first  violin  iss  sick  once  more  ahgen," 
said  Karl  Klinder,  pushing  aside  the  mahogany- 
colored  portiere  at  the  door  of  the  McChesneys' 
music-room,  where  an  amateur  club  met  for  weekly 
practice. 

He  spoke  with  the  careful  accent  and  precise 
pronunciation  that  mark  the  ambitious  German 
who  desires  to  be  considered  a  true  American  citi 
zen.  A  language,  however,  being — like  beauty — 
more  satisfactory  as  an  inheritance  than  as  an 
acquisition,  and  requiring,  moreover,  for  its  perfect 
development  abstinence  from  all  demoralizing  in 
fluences,  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  worthy  Karl, 
who  rendered  faithful  homage  to  the  beer-garden 
and  the  New  York  Musicians'  Protective  Union, 
should  still  remain  to  attentive  ears,  as  well  as 
observant  eyes,  a  German  citizen.  In  view  of  his 
announcement,  made  with  Teutonic  gravity  and  a 
quizzical  glance  over  the  top  of  his  spectacles,  he 


6  THE   DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

had  dispensed  with  the  small  formality  of  an  even 
ing  greeting.  Xo  one,  apparently,  noticed  the 
omission. 

"  Bless  me  !  no  ;  it's  impossible — that's  the 
sixth  violinist  who  has  failed  us  this  year  !  Where 
can  we  find  a  seventh  at  this  late  hour — everything 
ready  for  the  concert.  We  ought  to  get  a  dominant 
seventh  this  time  "  (Karl  Klinder  gave  two  or  three 
little  appreciative  nods)  "  in  order  to  have  any  suc 
cess  at  all.  Where,  where  shall  we  find  him? 
Well,  well!" 

Mr.  McChesney,  who  had  begun  with  consider 
ably  energy,  added  the  last  two  words  in  a  waver 
ing  tone  of  resignation.  He  had  come  forward  as 
he  spoke,  carrying  his  viola  in  his  hand.  He  had 
just  taken  it  from  an  antique  Flemish  cabinet,  or 
rather  cupboard,  which  stood  at  one  end  of  the 
room  and  seemed  to  frown  in  dignified  protest  at 
the  frivolity  of  an  airily  draped  French  window  at 
the  other.  In  his  surprise  Mr.  McChesney  left 
the  wide  doors  swinging  open  to  their  full  extent, 
thus  revealing  a  number  of  musical  instruments 
resting  against  a  dark-green-cloth  background. 
Here  were  a  guitar,  a  banjo,  an  old-fashioned  lute 
with  its  faded  blue  ribbon,  a  silver  flute,  a  clari 
net,  a  cornet,  and  two  violoncellos — one  of  the  long 
Stradivarius  pattern,  like  that  which  once  belonged 
to  Mara,  and  the  other  an  amber-colored  Foster 
violoncello  of  the  elegant  Amati  outline.  This 


TOE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  7 

violoncello  had  a  mellow,  powerful  tone,  and  was 
the  special  delight  of  Karl  Klinder,  who  made 
use  of  it  upon  some  rare  occasions  when  particu 
lar  depth  of  feeling  was  demanded  in  his  solos. 
On  the  three  shelves  below  this  assortment  slept 
in  their  coffin-like  boxes  some  valuable  violins — 
a  wonderful  Amati ;  a  Caspar  di  Salo,  with  its 
deep  brown  varnish  and  its  S  S  holes,  straight, 
well  cut,  and  parallel ;  an  early  Antoine  Stradi- 
varius,  its  warm,  yellowish  varnish  still  holding  the 
impenetrable  secret  of  its  composition ;  a  Joseph 
Guarnerius,  gently  arched  and  daintily  curved ;  a 
Gagliano ;  a  Bergonzi ;  and  one  of  our  modern 
but  hardly  less  sweet  Gemunders.  These  violins 
and  other  instruments  in  the  Flemish  cupboard 
formed  but  a  small  part  of  his  collection,  which 
embraced  many  examples  of  ancient  instruments, 
both  wind  and  stringed,  and  was  especially  rich  in 
the  fine  inlaid  work  and  richly  carved  cases  of  the 
eighteenth  century  makers.  It  was  a  collection 
known  to  all  connoisseurs  as  unique  and  almost 
priceless  in  value. 

Hugh  McChesney  had  certainly  made  fairly 
good  use  of  his  wealth  and  leisure  during  the 
thirty  years  that  had  elapsed  since  his  Harvard  Col 
lege  days.  The  collection  of  musical  instruments 
was  not  the  only  evidence  of  his  dilettanteism ; 
his  musical  library  was  replete  with  those  stained 
and  time-worn  MSS.  in  which  the  great  musicians 


6  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

had  dispensed  with  the  small  formality  of  an  even 
ing  greeting.  Xo  one,  apparently,  noticed  the 
omission. 

"  Bless  me  !  no ;  it's  impossible — that's  the 
sixth  violinist  who  has  failed  us  this  year !  Where 
can  we  find  a  seventh  at  this  late  hour — everything 
ready  for  the  concert.  We  ought  to  get  a  dominant 
seventh  this  time  "  (Karl  Klinder  gave  two  or  three 
little  appreciative  nods)  "  in  order  to  have  any  suc 
cess  at  all.  Where,  where  shall  we  find  him? 
Well,  well!" 

Mr.  McChesney,  who  had  begun  with  consider 
ably  energy,  added  the  last  two  words  in  a  waver 
ing  tone  of  resignation.  He  had  come  forward  as 
he  spoke,  carrying  his  viola  in  his  hand.  lie  had 
just  taken  it  from  an  antique  Flemish  cabinet,  or 
rather  cupboard,  which  stood  at  one  end  of  the 
room  and  seemed  to  frown  in  dignified  protest  at 
the  frivolity  of  an  airily  draped  French  window  at 
the  other.  In  his  surprise  Mr.  McChesney  left 
the  wide  doors  swinging  open  to  their  full  extent, 
thus  revealing  a  number  of  musical  instruments 
resting  against  a  dark-green-cloth  background. 
Here  were  a  guitar,  a  banjo,  an  old-fashioned  lute 
with  its  faded  blue  ribbon,  a  silver  flute,  a  clari 
net,  a  cornet,  and  two  violoncellos — one  of  the  long 
Stradivarius  pattern,  like  that  which  once  belonged 
to  Mara,  and  the  other  an  amber-colored  Foster 
violoncello  of  the  elegant  Amati  outline.  This 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  Y 

violoncello  had  a  mellow,  powerful  tone,  and  was 
the  special  delight  of  Karl  Klinder,  who  made 
use  of  it  upon  some  rare  occasions  when  particu 
lar  depth  of  feeling  was  demanded  in  his  solos. 
On  the  three  shelves  below  this  assortment  slept 
in  their  coffin-like  boxes  some  valuable  violins — 
a  wonderful  Amatl;  a  Gaspar  di  Salo,  with  its 
deep  brown  varnish  and  its  S  S  holes,  straight, 
well  cut,  and  parallel ;  an  early  Antoine  Stradi- 
varius,  its  warm,  yellowish  varnish  still  holding  the 
impenetrable  secret  of  its  composition ;  a  Joseph 
Guarnerius,  gently  arched  and  daintily  curved ;  a 
Gagliano ;  a  Bergonzi ;  and  one  of  our  modern 
but  hardly  less  sweet  Gemiinders.  These  violins 
and  other  instruments  in  the  Flemish  cupboard 
formed  but  a  small  part  of  his  collection,  which 
embraced  many  examples  of  ancient  instruments, 
both  wind  and  stringed,  and  was  especially  rich  in 
the  fine  inlaid  work  and  richly  carved  cases  of  the 
eighteenth  century  makers.  It  was  a  collection 
known  to  all  connoisseurs  as  unique  and  almost 
priceless  in  value. 

Hugh  McChesney  had  certainly  made  fairly 
good  use  of  his  wealth  and  leisure  during  the 
thirty  years  that  had  elapsed  since  his  Harvard  Col 
lege  days.  The  collection  of  musical  instruments 
Avas  not  the  only  evidence  of  his  dilettanteism ; 
his  musical  library  was  replete  with  those  stained 
and  time-worn  MSS.  in  which  the  great  musicians 


8  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

had  stored  their  immortal  thoughts;  his  small, 
well-lighted  gallery  was  hung  with  excellent  exam 
ples  of  different  schools  of  painting ;  and  his  long, 
low  library,  with  its  stained-glass  windows  and 
book-lined  walls,  revealed,  even  to  the  casual  ob 
server  who  glanced  along  the  crowded  shelves,  a 
man  of  liberal  views  as  well  as  a  man  of  refined 
and  even  esthetic  tastes.  He  might  best  be  de 
scribed  perhaps  to  a  musician  by  the  instrument 
he  preferred — the  viola ;  he  was  mild,  though 
firm,  and  somewhat  inclined  to  melancholy,  with 
certain  tendencies  to  timidity.  Though  not  self- 
assertive  in  the  least,  he  conveyed  to  those  who 
knew  him  well  an  impression  of  reserved  power,  an 
impression  which  they  seldom  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  justified.  The  atmosphere  always  sur 
rounding  him  was  that  of  kindness ;  children 
and  animals  were  particularly  attracted  to  him ; 
men  liked  him  unless  they  were  coarse  natured, 
when  his  refinement  and  purity  of  thought  acted 
upon  them  paradoxically  like  a  counter-irritant ; 
women  adored  him  with  that  calm  friendliness 
and  confidence  which  generally  precludes  the  pos 
sibility  of  deeper  emotion.  He  was  squarely  and 
sturdily  built,  somewhat  muscular,  and  the  dis 
tinguishing  feature  of  his  face  was  a  pair  of  liquid 
brown  eyes  whose  darkness  seemed  intensified  by 
the  iron-gray  hair  and  mustache.  He  dressed 
with  more  regard  to  comfort  than  to  fashion,  for 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  9 

he  believed  that  clothes  were  made  for  man  rather 
than  man  for  clothes.  He  stood  in  the  center  of 
the  room,  and,  still  facing  Karl  Klinder,  anxious 
ly  asked : 

"  But  what  is  "to  become  of  our  quartet?  The 
concert  is  to  come  off  next  week.  The  tickets  are 
all  sold.  And  to  bring  in,  at  the  last  moment,  a 
professional  whose  theories  in  regard  to  the  quartet 
may  be  entirely  different  from  ours,  whose  inter 
pretation  we  may  be  compelled  to  follow  after  we 
have  studied  our  own  so  carefully — why,  bless  me, 
it's  not  to  be  thought  of!  Here  we  have  spent 
weeks  of  labor  in  acquiring  the  happy  medium 
between  the  old  classical  interpretation  and  the 
new  Wagnerian  intensity  of  emotional  expression. 
What  can  be  done  ?  The  situation  is — is — well — 
really  it  is  exasperating.  Will  he  not  be  able  to 
come  to  another  rehearsal  if  not  to  this  one  ?  " 

Karl  Klinder  shook  his  bullet  head  dubiously, 
and,  grasping  his  'cello  tenderly  by  the  neck,  pro 
ceeded  to  carry  it  to  a  safe  corner  of  the  music- 
room,  where  he  set  it  down  without  removing  its 
outer  cover  of  waterproof  or  its  inner  dress  of  soft 
green  flannel.  Then  he  deposited  himself  with 
vigor  in  a  straight,  high-backed  chair,  and  re 
marked  deliberately : 

"  He  hass  shills  ahgen.  lie  gomplains  wit 
them  some  time  since  hlately." 

"  Diablo  !    Peste  soit  d'l'ignorant !  "  broke  in  a 


10  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

voice  from  near  the  piano  where  a  man  stood  al 
ternately  striking  A  and  E  while  he  tuned  his 
violin.  "  If  he  has  malaria  there  is  little  chance  of 
his  regeneration  in  time  for  our  concert.  It  is 
the  one  thing  that  blows  away  all  sense  of  duty 
and  propriety  and  leaves  a  man  one  vast  sickly 
interrogation  point.  As  for  his  music,  let  us  give 
it  up  at  once.  He  could  only  play  Schumann's 
'  Why '  or  that  antique  obituary-canvas-sampler, 
Mendelssohn's  '  Eesignation.' " 

"  Perhaps  if  you  had  a  tiny  soupcon  of  malaria, 
yourself,  Emil,  your  interpretation  of  certain  mu 
sical  movements  might  be  better,"  said  Philip  Mc- 
Chesney,  a  tall,  dark-eyed  young  man,  leaning 
over  the  end  of  the  grand  piano. 

"  Eh,  bien !  I  know  you  don't  altogether  like 
my  sentiment  in  the  andantes,  adagios,  and  largos 
of  our  symphonies  and  sonatas,  but  it  is  because  I 
express  in  them  a  natural  reaction  against  this 
Xew  Jersey  malarial  atmosphere — sentimentally 
damp  or  dam-p-dly  sentimental.  Why  do  you  live 
here  at  all  ?  Was  New  Jersey  ever  celebrated  for 
anything  but  peaches  and  mosquitoes  ?  " 

"  Gently,  gently,  Emil,"  interrupted  Philip  Mc- 
Chesney ;  "  Jersey  has  one  other  merit — it  gives  you 
shelter  from  a  Russian  prison.  We  don't  object 
to  your  criticism,  but  give  the  devil  his  due.  And 
permit  me  to  doubt,  mon  ami,  whether,  even  if  you 
should  have  malaria,  you  would  then  be  able  to 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH  H 

wail  with  proper  feeling,  or  to  bring  out  delicately 
any  phrase  of  deep  heart-longing,  unless  it  might 
be  some  expression  of  your  desire  to  see  the  Czar 
biting  the  dust.  But  give  you  a  movement  where 
you  can  represent  a  dance  of  Xihilists  around  a 
toppling  palace — interjections  of  dynamite  ad  lib 
itum — there  and  then  you  can  outrival  Eemenyi's 
most  frenzied  improvisations.  Your  playing  is  all 
very  Avell  in  Eubinstein  and  Tschaikowsky,  but 
not  quite  the  thing  in  a  Beethoven  adagio.  Per 
haps  it's  just  as  well  though  to  have  a  revolutionary 
spirit  among  us,  otherwise  we  steady-going  citizens 
might  become  threads  of  attenuated  sweetness. 
By  a  wise  dispensation  of  Providence  enters  Ka- 
linski — anarchy,  dismay,  colored  fire,  death  to 
rulers ! " 

"  You  seem  to  measure  your  wit  by  rule,  mon 
enfant,"  said  Emil  quickly. 

"  Xo,  by  rote ;  the  pen  of  history  is  my  divin 
ing-rod,"  answered  Philip,  pressing  his  hand  to  his 
heart  and  bowing  with  exaggerated  courtesy. 

"  Yotre  tres-humble  serviteur,  monsieur,"  said 
Emil,  straightening  himself  and  giving  a  military 
salute  with  his  violin. 

The  two  men  presented  a  striking  contrast. 
Emil  Kalinski  was  undersized,  with  long  body, 
short  legs,  large  head,  dark  bushy  whiskers  parted 
in  the  middle  and  brushed  to  stand  out  from  the 
face.  lie  had,  moreover,  a  large  mouth  with  full 


12  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

red  lips  which  ordinarily  remained  slightly  open 
over  gleaming  and  rather  projecting  teeth.  Philip 
McChesney,  on  the  contrary,  was  built  like  his 
father,  with  the  exception  of  being  taller  and  more 
slender.  He  had,  too,  a  longer  nose  and  brighter 
eyes  and  possessed  that  greater  elasticity  and  hope 
fulness  of  bearing  that  usually  distinguishes  youth 
from  middle  age.  His  face  was  refined  and 
thoughtful  and  his  every  movement  graceful. 
Equally  striking  was  the  mental  contrast  between 
these  two  men.  Emil,  born  in  Russia  and  accus 
tomed  during  his  youth  to  the  morbid  atmosphere 
of  secret,  sympathy  with  Xihilism,  educated  in 
France  and  imbued  there  with  the  strongest  com 
munistic  sentiments,  displayed  in  his  conversa 
tion  a  curious  mixture  of  dogged  bitterness,  re 
serve,  and  suspicion,  and  sullen  egotism,  but  thinly 
veiled  by  a  superficial  polish  and  vivacity.  Philip 
was  the  soul  of  frankness  and  honor  and  good  fel 
lowship,  and,  inheriting  from  his  mother  a  keen 
sense  of  humor,  he  was  inclined  to  look  at  the 
cheerful  side  of  existence.  His  greatest  fault  was 
an  easy-going  disposition  that  led  him  to  put  him 
self  on  terms  of  comradeship  with  all  varieties  of 
men.  Between  him  and  Kalinski  existed  a  warm 
friendship ;  although  indeed  a  suspicion  now  and 
then  crossed  Philip's  mind  that  Kalinski  had  not 
an  overkeen  sense  of  honor  and  that  he  might  be 
capable  under  temptation  of  sinking  virtue  in  self- 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  13 

interest.  Nevertheless,  he  tried  to  thrust  away  such 
unwelcome  thoughts  even  when  a  chance  remark, 
like  a  ray  of  light  let  suddenly  into  a  darkened 
room,  revealed  the  unwelcome  possibilities  of  Ka- 
linski's  nature. 

While  Philip  and  Emil  continued  their  passage 
at  arms  by  the  piano,  Mr.  McChesney  and  Karl 
Klinder  were  carrying  on  a  serious  discussion, 
which  ended  when  Mr.  McChesney  turned  to 
Philip,  and  said : 

"  Well,  my  son,  there  is  no  way  out  of  the  pres 
ent  difficulty  but  for  you  to  work  up  this  violin 
part.  By  practicing  night  and  day  you  may  be 
able  to  do  it.  If  it  were  not  for  these  private  the 
atricals,  nonsensical  germans,  and  the  superfluity 
of  pretty  girls  here,  you  might  have  been  a  fine 
violinist  by  this  time.  At  any  rate,  try  the  part. 
You  have  heard  it  often  enough  to  have  a  right 
conception  of  it." 

"All  right,  for  once,  paternus,"  answered  Philip, 
smoothing  a  slight  wrinkle  in  the  shoulder  of  his 
well-fitting  dress-coat,  and  then  conveying  the 
white  carnation  from  his  button-hole  to  a  vase  of 
cameo-glass  filled  with  roses.  "  I  will  give  my 
valuable  aid  until  the  carriage  comes  at  half-past 
nine  o'clock.  Aux  armes,  citoyens ! 

Gather  the  notes  in  while  ye  may, 
Old  Time  is  still  a-flying." 


14:  THE   DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

Philip  seized  his  violin  as  he  spoke  and  com 
pelled  the  unoffending  instrument  to  execute  a 
series  of  discordant  shrieks  in  harmony  with  the 
feelings  of  his  listeners.  After  this  ebullition  he 
sat  down  quietly  to  prepare  for  the  serious  work 
before  him. 

The  rehearsal  proceeded  fairly  for  a  time. 
They  were  playing  Beethoven's  E  flat  major  quar 
tet,  op.  127.  The  opening  chords,  "  maestoso," 
the  allegro,  even  the  first  part  of  the  noble  adagio 
whose  penetrating  sweetness  and  deep  feeling 
touches  even  an  unmusical  heart,  met  with  not 
entirely  unworthy  treatment  at  the  hands  of  these 
enthusiastic  amateurs, but  alas  for  the  syncopations, 
the  delicate  trills,  the  groups  of  thirty-second 
notes  that  should  sway  and  sigh  as  lightly  as  vine 
leaves  on  a  trellis  ! 

"  Quarter  of  a  tone  off  and  scratchy  at  that," 
said  Mr.  McChesney,  laying  down  his  viola  when 
Philip  struck  the  high  A  flat  in  the  closing  meas 
ures  of  the  andante  con  moto. 

"  It  is  a  shame  to  murder  such  a  glorious  move 
ment,"  Philip  remarked  mournfully.  "  I  fed  it  all. 
Why  will  not  the  mind  control  the  muscles?" 

"  It  might  if  you  exercised  both  sufficiently," 
said  Mr.  McChesney  grimly. 

"  I  call  that  mean,  paternus,  to  hit  a  man  when 
he's  already  down  in  his  boots.  However,  I  have 
some  coals  of  fire  for  Newcastle — I  know  a  man 


THE  DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  15 

who,  I  think,  will  help  us.  Go  on  practicing,  and 
I  will  bring  him  if  possible.  There  is  the  car 
riage,  now." 

Philip  seized  his  carefully  preserved  carnation, 
pinned  it  again  in  his  button-hole,  and  went  out 
of  the  room. 

"  But  who  is  it  you  propose  to  introduce  in 
this  unceremonious  fashion  ? "  Mr.  McChesney 
called  after  Philip. 

"  Oh,  lie's  all  right,"  replied  Philip,  coming 
back  to  the  door  with  his  overcoat  on.  "  I  heard 
him  at  the  De  Peysters'  in  New  York  last  week. 
lie  has  come  out  here  to  board  for  the  winter,  as 
he  likes  quiet.  And  he'll  certainly  get  enough  of 
it.  Suburban  Xew  Jersey  towns  don't  offer  alarm 
ing  opportunities  for  hilarious  dissipation — mild 
sociables,  spasmodic  teas,  church-fairs,  and  mis 
sionary  jug-breakings,  with  a  sprinkling  of  euchre- 
parties  and  a  climax  of  an  occasional  german. 
Pah!" 

Mr.  McChesney  looked  benignantly  at  his  son. 
"  Philip,  my  boy,  you  are  a  weather-vane.  How 
long  is  it  since  you  defended  Jersey  against  Ka- 
linski  ?  " 

"  Et  tu,  Socrate  !  Whether  vain  or  not  vain, 
at  least  I'm  not  a-spire-ing  enough  to  reach  your 
philosophic  height."  And  Philip  hastened  off, 
leaving  his  father  smiling  and  shaking  his  head 
at  this  parting  shot. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PHILIP  sped  on  his  way  with  little  doubt  of 
the  success  of  his  mission.  He  had  a  strong 
belief  in  the  general  kindly  spirit  of  musicians 
toward  each  other,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
they  have  been  so  long  compelled  to  appear  in 
public  as  esthetic  scapegoats  for  the  ill-tempers 
common  to  all  humanity.  Philip  had  found,  like 
many  others  who  investigate  for  themselves,  that 
there  exists  among  musicians,  particularly  the  bet 
ter  class  of  professionals  and  amateurs,  a  sympa 
thy  whereby  they  appreciate  at  once  each  other's 
wants  and  needs,  and  which  renders  them  suffi 
ciently  alive  to  direful  musical  possibilities  to 
step  forward  graciously  when  awkward  gaps  are 
to  be  filled.  It  is  only  the  penny-a-liner,  so  to 
speak,  of  the  musical  world,  who  plays  the  part 
of  Jupiter  nodding  to  mortals,  and  who  leaves  his 
petitioner  dubious  as  to  his  intentions  on  the  ap 
pointed  evening.  Your  true,  sensitive  musical  gen 
ius  will  respond  if  possible  to  the  call  of  a  brother 
in  distress  with  that  gentle  courtesy  that  doubles 
the  obligation  while  disclaiming  any. 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  17 

Philip's  expectations  were  fully  justified.  Sign- 
or  Ferrauti  was  at  home  and,  after  listening  to 
Philip's  explanation,  expressed  his  willingness  to 
attend  the  rehearsal.  He  donned  a  fur-lined 
overcoat  and  slouch  hat,  under  which  his  yellow 
face  and  large  black  eyes  assumed  a  softer  aspect, 
took  his  violin,  which  he  told  Philip  had  been  pre 
sented  to  him  by  a  well-known  connoisseur  in  Paris 
and  was  worth  at  least  five  thousand  dollars,  and 
without  further  delay  entered  the  carriage.  Con 
versation  flagged ;  for  Philip  received  but  mono 
syllabic  answers  to  his  good-natured  questions. 
The  night  was  clear.  There  was  a  full  moon.  A 
high  wind  blew,  driving  fragments  of  clouds  over 
the  sky — fragments  tinged  whenever  they  drifted 
across  the  moon  Avith  yellow  opaline  luster.  The 
trees,  to  which  still  clung  a  few  withering  leaves, 
like  the  last  faint  hopes  that  cling  to  the  heart  of 
an  aged  man,  took  on  a  blue-gray  tint  under  the 
pallid  light  and  fitfully  swayed  to  and  fro  as  the 
carriage  rolled  up  the  long  winding  drive  that  led 
up  hill  to  Strathcarron.  An  irregular  stone  dwell 
ing  crowned  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  from  the  front 
of  this  dwelling  a  magnificent  lawn  swept  cheer 
fully  and  expansively  away,  its  gentle  slope  dotted 
in  summer  with  beds  of  brilliant  flowers,  groups 
of  tropical  plants,  and  well-clipped  cedars  and 
pines.  A  rustic  bridge  crossed  a  dashing  little 
stream  that  ran  some  distance  to  the  right,  and 
2 


18  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

off  some  distance  to  the  left  a  trout-pond  was 
half  visible  under  its  protecting  hedge  of  willows 
and  low  bushes.  Ferranti  woke  from  his  reverie 
to  remark  upon  the  beauty  of  the  place. 

"  It  is  like  an  old  English  mansion,"  said  he, 
noting  the  turrets  at  the  corners,  the  high  tower 
rising  in  the  center,  and  the  Doric  pillars  that 
supported  a  generous  portico. 

"Yes;  the  main  body  of  the  house  was  built 
by  my  grandfather  to  resemble  the  early  home 
of  his  wife,  who  was  an  Englishwoman  of  some 
rank ;  but  it  has  received  several  additions  since. 
The  music-room  is  on  the  right  side  of  the  house, 
and  extends  through  to  another  long  piazza  on  the 
back ;  and  out  of  the  music-room  opens  a  small 
conservatory  which  is  my  sister's  special  delight. 
In  the  music-room  we  have  been  fortunate  enough 
to  hear  some  of  the  best  musicians  in  the  world : 
Ole  Bull,  Eemenyi,  Wieniawski,  Musin,  that  best 
of  classic  artists  Wilhelmj,  and  any  number  of  the 
great  pianists — Mme.  Essipoff,  Madeleine  Schiller, 
Joseffy,  and  our  latest  American  acquisition,  Adele 
Aus  der  Ohe.  And  it  is  a  curious  fact  that  in  a 
private  music-room,  and  surrounded  only  by  the 
appreciative  few,  they  have  generally  played  with 
even  more  fire  and  feeling  than  in  a  public 
hall." 

"  That  may  well  be  true,"  answered  Ferranti. 
"  The  best  music  I  have  heard  lately  was  in  the 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.        19 

small  salon  in  Paris  where  Saint  Saens  entertains 
his  music-loving  friends." 

As  they  stepped  out  of  the  carriage  the  open 
ing  strains  of  the  Gade  trio  in  F  major  floated 
to  their  ears  and  seemed  to  fill  the  air  with  spring 
like  joyous  freshness. 

"Who  plays  the  piano?"  asked  Ferranti 
abruptly,  taking  off  his  hat. 

"My  sister  Flora,"  Philip  answered.  Ferranti 
stood  still  for  a  moment  and,  as  if  unconscious  of 
a  listener,  repeated  a  line  from  Dante,  "  Quando 
ti  giovera  dicera  io  fui."  He  then  turned  and 
walked  slowly  to  one  end  of  the  piazza  and  stood 
motionless,  evidently  impressed  with  the  beauty  of 
the  scene.  In  the  distance  rose  the  church-spires ; 
a  low  range  of  hills  melted  into  the  dark  clouds 
along  the  horizon  line;  here  and  there  lights 
gleamed  from  the  windows  of  the  houses  below ; 
and,  over  all,  the  moon  and  clouds  threw  an  ever- 
shifting  network  of  light  and  shade.  All  was 
quiet,  domestic,  and  American,  save  Ferranti  him 
self  who,  with  his  loose  long  cloak,  his  bare  head, 
and  his  sharp,  strong  features  accentuated  by  a 
sudden  flood  of  moonlight,  brought  to  Philip's 
mind  flitting  visions  of  Koman  senators,  Socratic 
philosophers,  Italian  banditti,  and  Spanish  cava 
liers. 

As  Philip  unlocked  the  door  with  his  latch 
key  and  stood  back  to  let  Ferranti  step  over  the 


CHAPTER  III. 

FEW  men  of  artistic  temperament  could  fail  to 
be  affected  by  the  sweet  womanliness  of  Flora 
McChesney,  combined  as  it  was  with  an  almost 
masculine  directness  of  thought  and  a  swiftness  of 
comprehension  that  made  her  one  of  the  most 
charming  companions  in  the  world.  To  see  her 
hazel  eyes  gleam  with  a  quick  perception  of  the 
speaker's  coming  thought  offered  an  irresistible 
source  of  pleasure  to  men  of  intellect  and  taste ; 
and  even  the  taciturn  were  moved  in  her  pres 
ence  to  express  themselves  with  ease  and  freedom. 
She  was  never  called  beautiful,  save  in  those  rare 
moments  of  excitement  when  a  brilliant  color  lent 
to  her  pale  face  the  rosy  light  of  youth.  Her  feat 
ures  were  rather  large  and  not  over- finely  mod 
eled  ;  but  the  mouth — that  feature  for  which  one 
is  most  directly  responsible — was  sweet  and  firm. 
A  slender,  willowy  figure  made  her  appear  younger 
than  her  twenty-six  years.  Two  peculiarities  were 
always  first  noted  by  strangers — one,  the  mass  of 
fluffy  golden  hair  which  crowned  a  we  11- shaped 
head,  each  hair  seemingly  endowed  with  a  separate 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  23 

will  of  its  own ;  the  other,  the  large,  flexible  hands, 
with  fingers  capable  of  bending  backward  and  for 
ward  with  equal  facility.  The  size  of  her  hand  did 
not  at  all  disturb  Flora  McChesney,  for  this  de 
fect  was  balanced  in  her  eyes  by  the  ease  with 
which  in  her  piano-playing  she  compassed  abnor 
mal  stretches  and  obtained  superior  orchestral 
effects.  She  was  a  well-read  woman,  capable  of 
understanding  the  scientific  researches  of  Lub- 
bock  and  the  lines  of  thought  pursued  by  Darwin, 
Huxley,  and  Spencer,  and  not  above  enjoying  the 
insouciance  and  freshness  of  some  second  or  even 
third-rate  novels  of  the  day.  Indeed,  this  recre 
ation  she  held  to  be  a  necessity,  and  considered 
that  any  woman  of  broad  culture  must  know  all 
currents  of  thought  of  her  time  and  must  compre 
hend  the  amusements  of  the  many  as  well  as  the 
interests  of  the  few. 

In  music  she  was  no  less  catholic  in  her  tastes ; 
not  finding  Offenbach  and  Strauss  unbearable  be 
cause  Beethoven  and  Wagner  are  sublime,  but 
looking  upon  them  all  as  ministers  of  grace  who 
preach  not  unworthily  of  that  whereof  each  one 
knows.  This  general  appreciativeness  which  did 
not  seem  to  interfere  with  the  preservation  of  her 
high  ideals  became  still  more  noticeable  when  one 
observed  her  social  relations.  Hence  it  was  not 
surprising  that  her  admirers  were  only  limited  by 
the  number  of  her  acquaintances.  The  violinists 


24  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

invariably  succumbed  audibly  or  with  secret  sighs, 
according  to  the  stability  of  previous  anchorage, 
to  her  attractions ;  while  of  other  admirers  might 
be  named,  almost  at  random,  a  lean  flutist,  two  cel 
lists,  both  stout  and  red,  a  zither  artist,  a  doctor 
with  a  good  practice,  besides  three  artists,  an  en 
thusiastic  bibliophile,  and  a  scientific  man  who 
wished  to  add  her,  as  she  declared,  to  his  unique 
collection  of  butterflies.  Few  among  the  musi 
cians,  however,  had  ventured  to  come  to  the 
point  of  offering  their  full  hearts  and  empty 
pockets  to  a  divinity  who  hedged  herself  about 
with  an  atmosphere  of  such  cold  reserve,  and  who 
looked  upon  love  as  an  epidemic  :  not  necessarily 
fatal. 

From  the  library,  across  the  hall  and  opposite 
the  music  room,  Flora  listened  to  the  new  violin 
ist.  She  heard  his  preliminary  suggestions  in  a 
rich,  mellow  voice ;  then  the  opening  chord  of  E 
flat,  forte  ;  the  light,  firm,  staccato  repetition ; 
then  the  dominant  seventh,  sforzato ;  so  on,  as  the 
instruments  swept  to  the  tenderly  strong  allegro. 
The  master  spirit  gradually  made  itself  manifest, 
animated  the  other  players,  and  bent  them  to  its 
own  will.  Heavens !  what  fire  and  spirit  flamed 
into  this  new  reading !  The  old  interpretation 
was  forgotten.  Phrase  after  phrase  came  out  with 
new  and  dramatic  meaning.  The  grand  epic  force 
of  Beethoven,  the  concentrated  energy  with  which 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  25 

he  drew  from  human  life  its  mysterious  secrets — 
its  wild  despair,  its  bitter  grief,  its  tender  affec 
tion,  its  ever-springing  hope — and  brought  them 
into  noble  relationship  through  his  divine  har 
monies,  which  drop  the  balm  of  peace  over  the 
listener's  heart,  and  rise  in  triumphant  majesty 
to  meet  the  bending  stars,  these  received  from 
Ferranti  the  perfect  recognition  of  a  truly  musical 
soul. 

The  usual  tempo  quite  forgotten,  the  players 
hurried  with  repressed  excitement  through  the 
staccatos  and  the  swinging  triplets  of  the  final 
allegro  con  moto.  As  with  increasing  impetu 
osity  they  reached  the  end,  Flora  drew  near 
the  door  of  the  music  room  and  stood  there 
quietly,  her  pale  face  and  yellow  hair  thrown 
out  in  strong  relief  by  the  dark  velvet  folds  of 
the  portiere  that  fell  in  heavy  masses  on  either 
side.  She  looked  straight  at  Ferranti,  and  when 
the  last  dominant  seventh  chord,  followed  by  the 
tonic,  brought  the  movement  to  an  end,  she  said 
eagerly : 

"  That  is  the  way  Beethoven  would  have  played 
it  had  he  lived  to-day,  had  he  been  familiar  with 
our  own  modern  life." 

Ferranti  lifted  his  head,  lowered  his  violin, 
and  gazed  at  her  dreamily,  as  if  bringing  him 
self  back  with  difficulty  to  the  world  of  real 
life. 


26  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  way,  I  think." 

The  others  sat  as  though  stupefied  by  their 
own  unexpected  power.  Their  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  sallow,  impassive  face,  which  bore  no 
trace  of  emotion.  Mr.  McChesney  held  out  his 
hand  and  warmly  shook  that  of  the  violinist. 
Karl  Klinder  wiped  his  spectacles.  Kalinski 
mopped  his  forehead  excitedly. 

"  Is  there  anything  more  ?  "  said  Ferranti,  ris 
ing.  Mr.  McChesney  rose  also. 

"  Well,  perhaps  not.  There  was  a  sonata  for 
piano  and  violin  on  our  programme,  but — "  And 
he  hesitated. 

Flora  came  forward.  "  Oh,  we  must  play  it, 
father."  A  bright  red  spot  came  to  either  cheek 
as  she  began  to  look  for  the  music. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Ferranti.  "Ah,  a  Raff 
sonata,  that  '  Fiinfte  Grosste,'  a  fifth  monument 
to  his  industry — dry  bones  that  rattle  correctly 
enough  in  obedience  to  the  showman's  jerking- 
string.  But  to  be  just,  some  of  Raff's  composi 
tions  are  lovely;  it  is  only  when  he  insists  on 
working  a  poor  idea  through  forty  pages  of  f ugal 
and  contrapuntal  variations  that  he  becomes  so 
tiresome.  Do  you  know  the  suite  opus  210  ?  That 
is  a  charming  piece  of  work." 

"  Yes,"  said  Flora. 

"  But  whom  do  you  like  best  of  the  modern 
composers  ?  Rubinstein  ?  I  thought  so.  Let  us 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  27 

run  over  one  of  his  sonatas.  Which  shall  it 
be?" 

"  The  G  major  I  am  most  familiar  with," 
Flora  answered,  taking  the  music  from  the  tall 
ebony  rack  by  the  piano. 

Ferranti  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of 
surprise  ;  then,  as  if  deterred  by  some  inward 
thought  from  expressing  any  objection,  he  took 
the  music  from  her  hand  and  put  it  slowly  upon 
the  stand  before  him. 

In  spite  of  her  own  strong  will,  which  made 
her  cling  to  her  wonted  interpretation  of  the  so 
nata,  Flora  was  soon  overpowered  by  the  magnet 
ism  of  Ferranti.  Like  the  players  in  the  quartet, 
she  lost  her  own  individuality  and  followed  the 
violinist's  thought.  By  that  wonderful  sympathy 
which  had  always  been  the  distinguishing  char 
acteristic  of  her  accompaniments,  she  grasped 
each  phrase  almost  before  its  enunciation  by  the 
violin ;  while  her  own  prominent  passages  came 
out  with  startling  likeness  to  the  violin  tones, 
rippling,  dancing,  leaping  from  the  quivering 
instrument  in  Ferranti's  hands.  A  moment's 
pause  after  the  scherzo :  another  after  the  brief 
adagio  that  opens  the  finale :  then  they  dash 
into  that  free  and  joyous  strain  which  forms  the 
principal  motif  of  the  last  movement : 


28 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 


Moderate  con  moto.  —  J  -—       _--; — s 


Flora  shivered  as  she  began  the  strain. 

The  violin  slid  into  the  long  D  that  begins  the 
violin  accompaniment,  and  the  piano  took  up  the 
motif.  Flora  glanced  up  in  astonishment  at  Fer- 
ranti,  half  turned  her  head  apprehensively,  and 
lost  for  a  moment  the  rhythm.  More  and  more 
nervously  she  moved  her  long  fingers  over  the 
sixths,  octaves,  and  elusive  arpeggios  of  the  diffi 
cult  accompaniment.  Now  the  rich  bass  tones  of 
the  piano  gave  out  the  motif  transferred  to  the 
key  of  B  flat,  now  the  violin  followed ;  now  f ugally 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  29 

both  intertwined ;  now  through  the  key  of  C  minor 
the  motif  moved  with  growing  pathos ;  then  in  D 
minor  it  breathed  out  its  meaning  with  swelling, 
sorrowful  intensity,  like  a  thought  of  remembered 
happiness  that  fills  the  aching  heart  with  tears. 
Flora  had  grown  gradually  paler,  and  at  the  cli 
max  of  the  musical  emotion — the  high  forte  F  of 
the  violin — she  let  her  hands  fall  upon  the  keys 
with  a  crashing  discord  ;  sprang  up,  dashed  her 
right  hand  into  the  air  as  against  some  repellent 
object,  and  gave  at  the  same  time  a  piercing 
shriek.  Her  father  ran  to  the  piano  and  grasped 
her  by  the  arm,  while  she  struggled  and  cried 
out : 

"  Oh  !  send  her  away !  What  is  she  here  for  ? 
Who  is  she  ? "  and  she  looked  around  the  room 
with  dazed  eyes. 

"  Xo  one  is  here,  my  child,"  said  Mr.  McChes- 
ney  gently. 

"  But  I  saw  a  terrible  face.  I  felt  a  thrill  of 
horror  when  I  began  that  movement,  as  if  some 
thing  dreadful  were  about  to  happen ;  and  while 
we  played  that  last  passage  I  felt  a  presence  beside 
me.  I  looked  up  and  there  was  that  face — a 
woman's  face,  pale  and  haggard,  with  wild,  star 
ing  eyes  and  black  hair  falling  in  straggling  locks 
upon  the  forehead  and  over  the  shoulders.  The 
eyes  were  glittering  with  fury,  and  a  hand  was 
raised  to  strike  me.  Merciful  Heavens  !  I  was  so 


30  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

frightened.  Who  was  it  ?  What  could  it  have 
been?"  And  she  clung  trembling  to  her  father's 
arm. 

"  Nothing,  I  imagine,  but  nervousness  and  a 
vivid  imagination,"  said  her  father,  patting  her 
quietly  on  the  shoulder  with  his  disengaged  hand. 
"  We  have  had  too  much  music  to-night,  perhaps. 
You  had  better  sit  down  a  while,"  directing  her 
unsteady  movements  to  a  large  brown  velvet  arm 
chair  near  the  door. 

Flora  sank  into  the  chair  and  threw  her  head 
back,  half-closing  her  eyes.  At  this  moment  the 
old  housekeeper,  Flora's  former  nurse,  a  Scotch 
woman  by  birth  and  a  privileged  character  by 
merit,  came  rushing  in,  her  wide  cap-border  wav 
ing,  a  flask  of  smelling-salts  in  one  hand  and  a 
bottle  of  camphor  in  the  other. 

"  Ah,  my  bit  bairnie,  what  have  ye  noo  ?  I 
heard  ye  scream  and  I  did  na  ken  were  ye  mur 
dered  or  no." 

Flora  put  out  her  hand  to  grasp  that  of  the 
old  woman,  but  her  face  grew  whiter. 

"  Dinna  ye  ken  she's  gaun  to  faint  ?  "  said  Mag 
gie  to  the  men,  who  afforded  the  usual  example  in 
such  cases  of  masculine  intellects  struggling  to 
eliminate  the  useless  factors  of  logic,  law,  and 
precedent  from  the  problem  in  view,  and  to  make 
X=What  to  do. 

"  Bring  me  some  cold  water,"  she  continued, 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  31 

to  Mr.  McCliesney,  while  she  rubbed  Flora's 
hands.  He  hastened  to  the  dining-room,  quickly 
returned  with  the  water,  and,  according  to  Mag 
gie's  directions,  tried  to  bathe  Flora's  forehead. 
He  was  awkward,  and  the  water  trickled  over  her 
face.  Karl  Klinder,  standing  ready  to  be  useful, 
seized  Maggie's  long,  soft,  white  apron  to  wipe 
away  the  water-drops.  "  Hoot  mon,  ye're  owre 
free  wi'  what's  no'  yer  ain,"  said  she  abruptly ;  for 
no  anxiety  could  make  Maggie  entirely  forgetful 
of  her  personal  dignity. 

"  It  is  a  vay  I  haf  when  dhere  iss  necessity," 
Karl  answered  calmly,  nevertheless  substituting 
his  own  red  silk  handkerchief  for  the  well-protect 
ed  apron. 

Under  Maggie's  energetic  ministrations  Flora 
soon  recovered  consciousness.  "  Where  is  mam 
ma  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  mither  didna  hear  ye,  bairnie ;  she's  in 
the  faraway  room  wi  the  laddies.  Do  ye  feel  bet 
ter  noo,  dearie  ?  "  And  the  woman  pushed  back 
the  wet  curls  from  Flora's  forehead. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Flora  sitting  up  with  an 
evident  effort.  "  Please  do  not  say  anything  to 
mamma.  And  don't  make  any  more  fuss  over  me, 
anybody,  please.  I  am  only  a  little  upset,  that  is 
all.  It  is  absurd  for  me  to  be  nervous."  She 
gave  a  little  hysterical  laugh  as  she  observed  the 
three  men  gazing  at  her  with  solemn  earnestness ; 


32  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

her  father  calmly  spilling  the  glass  of  water,  Klin- 
der  holding  the  red  silk  handkerchief,  and  Kalin- 
ski  poising  in  the  air  a  huge  Japanese  fan  which 
he  had  snatched  from  its  place  in  the  hall.  Fer- 
ranti  alone  remained  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
room  and  peering  with  apparent  intentness  at  the 
musical  instruments  in  the  Flemish  cabinet. 

"  You  really  look  too  funny,  "  she  continued ; 
"  I  remind  myself  of  Juno,  sitting  on  a  cloud 
and  receiving  attentions  from  the  gods." 

"  Nae,  nae,  lassie,"  broke  in  Maggie ;  "  ye'ro 
mair  like  a  modest  blue-bell  o'  the  mountains  than 
like  any  o'  the  auld  wights  who  sit  aboon  the  airth 
and  ken  naething  at  all  about  it,  savin  to  crachit 
their  sels  oop  wi'  their  ain  selfishness." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  my  fate  to  be  always  a 
'bit  lassie'  to  you,  Maggie,  and  never,  never,  a 
stately  Juno."  Flora  spoke  affectionately,  and 
leaned  upon  Maggie's  arm  while  she  tried  to  say 
good-night  with  some  degree  of  composure.  But 
the  quivering  of  her  lips  and  her  pallor  showed 
the  effort  that  it  cost  her ;  and  her  self-possession 
was  nearly  lost  when  upon  saying  "  Good-night, 
Signor  Ferranti,"  he  wheeled  suddenly  about  and 
flashed  from  his  dark  eyes  an  intense  questioning 
glance  vividly  contrasting  with  his  former  as 
sumption  of  indifference.  After  Flora  went  out 
Mr.  McChesney  walked  up  and  down  the  room  a 
few  times,  reflectively  clasping  and  unclasping  his 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  33 

hands.  At  length  he  stopped  near  Ferranti  and 
remarked  in  a  rather  apologetic  tone  : 

"  This  is  the  first  evidence  of  hysterical  weak 
ness  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  daughter.  She  is  not 
of  the  ordinary  feminine  emotional  type ;  she  has 
unusual  self-control.  I  can  not  understand  such 
a  singular  freak.  It  is  really  quite  puzzling." 

Signor  Ferranti  put  down  the  violin  he  was 
examining,  and  said,  somewhat  vaguely  it  seemed 
to  Mr.  McChesney :  "  Positive  blondes  are  gen 
erally  very  susceptible  to  emotional  influence,  even 
though  they  appear  to  be  self-controlled.  Nega 
tive  blondes,  on  the  contrary,  of  the  ashen  type,  get 
credit  for  much  more  feeling  than  they  deserve 
because  their  narrowness  and  cunning  permits 
them  to  hysterically  impose  upon  the  average  man. 
It  is  the  occasional  decided  blonde  like  your 
daughter  who  redeems  the  petty  sins  of  the  whole 
type."  Ferranti  spoke  in  a  would-be  calm,  didac 
tic  manner,  but  his  low  tone  betrayed  a  vibrating 
undercurrent  of  feeling,  and  his  hand  trembled  as 
he  walked  away  to  put  his  own  violin  in  its  case. 

Mr.  McChesney,  whose  mind  was  thus  turned 
from  his  daughter's  emotional  disturbance,  had 
begun  already  in  imagination  to  prepare  a  few  sta 
tistics  in  regard  to  the  theory  that  blondes  are 
dying  out,  and  was  not  overpleased  at  the  retreat 
of  a  possibly  appreciative  listener.  He  followed 
Ferranti  to  the  piano,  but,  seeing  him  about  to 

3 


34:  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

leave,  wisely  forbore  discussion  and  remarked  upon 
the  beauty  of  the  violin  cover.  It  was  of  black 
velvet,  lined  and  bound  with  orange  satin  and  em 
broidered  with  a  ]yre  in  gold  thread  and  a  wreath 
of  passion  flowers. 

"  Evidently  a  labor  of  love,"  was  his  medita 
tive,  rather  than  interrogative  remark. 

"  Probably,  since  all  art  work  is  a  labor  of  love. 
But  the  best  Avork  can  be  bought.  That  is  the 
curse  of  it,"  with  an  amused  curl  of  the  lip. 
"  Good  evening,"  and  the  signer  shook  hands 
with  Mr.  McChesney  and  left  before  the  other  oc 
cupants  of  the  room  had  time  to  notice  his  depart 
ure. 

"  His  hands  were  like  the  hands  of  a  dead 
man,"  Mr.  McChesney  said.  "  Bah !  can  that 
foolish  child  have  affected  me  with  her  nervous 
ness?" 

"  Perhaps  Signer  Ferranti  hass  also  a  shill,  or 
in — indig — nation — how  do  you  call  you  the  stom 
ach  trouble  ?  "  Klinder  suggested  mildly  but  sar 
castically  as  he  tied  the  waterproof  bag  over  his 
'cello. 

Kalinski  said  nothing.  He  had  been  greatly 
disturbed  by  the  sudden  advent  of  Signor  Fer 
ranti.  With  the  keen  instinct  of  jealousy,  he  fore 
saw  a  powerful  rival.  For  it  was  a  fact  but  half 
suspected  that  Kalinski  was  Flora's  most  persist 
ent  adorer.  lie  knew,  indeed,  that  she  cared  little 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  35 

or  nothing  for  him ;  but  although  he  apparently 
neither  expected  nor  asked  any  concession  from 
her,  he  patiently  bided  his  time  and  hugged  to 
himself  the  delusion  that  one  day  his  devotion 
would  be  rewarded.  He  was  swayed  by  that  self 
ish  passion  which  considers  only  its  own  gratifi 
cation  and  has  no  regard  for  the  real  welfare  of 
its  object.  Of  love  in  the  true  meaning  of  the 
word  he  had  no  conception ;  so  that  when  Philip 
attempted  one  day  to  convince  him  that  love  must 
be  the  mutual  recognition  of  two  souls  drawn  to 
each  other  by  an  irresistible  attraction  which  ex 
cludes  the  idea  of  selfishness,  Emil  Kalinski  mere 
ly  gave  Philip  in  return  a  superior  smile  of  egotis 
tic  pessimism,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  expound 
his  own  theories : 

"Love?"  said  he,  briskly.  "What  do  you 
know  of  love  more  than  I  ?  You  have  one  idea  of 
it,  and  there  are  others.  How  many  kinds  of  love 
are  there  ? — all  branches  of  one  thrifty  tree.  None 
knows  better  what  love  means  than  Wagner.  Are 
his  heroes  all  alike  ?  Are  his  heroines  alike  ?  Let 
me  remind  you — in  another's  words — of,  for  in 
stance,  Senta,  '  the  human  embodiment  of  that 
love  which  is  rather  a  blind,  adoring  faith  than  a 
passion,  and  which  feeds  and  thrives  upon  com 
plete  self-abandonment  and  sacrifice';  of  Elsa, 
'  a  no  less  passionate  love,  although  not  incapable 
of  self-sacrifice,  which  must  instinctively  and  irre- 


36  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

sistibly  have  fuller  and  yet  fuller  possession  of  its 
object';  or  Kundria,  'the  representative  of  two 
antagonistic  traits  in  woman — of  feminine  love, 
ever  devoted,  self-sacrificing,  and  hopeful,  and  of 
feminine  fascination  and  seduction,  ever  baneful, 
enervating,  and  fraught  with  ruin ' ;  and  I  might 
give  a  thousand  instances  to  illustrate  a  poet's 
standpoint.  As  to  myself — if  I  love  a  woman,  she 
is  mine  if  I  can  win  her.  If  she  doesn't  love  me 
— well,  so  much  the  worse  if  I  win  her.  But  I 
take  the  chances  of  her  loving  me — it  is  woman's 
nature  to  love  her  master.  Liberty  of  love  and 
love  of  liberty  are  my  watchwords." 

"  Rather  Mephistophelian,"  said  Philip  quietly. 
"  Qa  va,"  with  a  shrug.  "  But  your  cherished  the 
ories  will  vanish  when  Love  knocks  at  the  door  of 
your  heart. 

Nicht  Gut,  nicht  Gold, 

Noch  gottliche  Pracht, 

Nicht  Haus,  nicht  Hof, 

Noch  herrischer  Prunk, 

Nicht  Trueber  Vertraege, 

Truegender  Bund, 

Noch  hcuchelnder  Sitte 

Hartes  Gesetz 

Sclig  in  Lust  und  Leid 

Lasst — die  Liebe  nur  sein." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN  the  interval  that  elapsed  between  this  re 
hearsal  and  the  concert,  Signer  Ferranti  visited 
the  McChesneys  twice — once  to  attend  a  rehear 
sal,  where  he  played  the  suite  of  Raff's  selected  for 
the  concert  instead  of  the  Rubinstein  sonata,  and 
once  in  response  to  an  invitation  to  dine  from  Mrs. 
McChesney.  On  the  latter  occasion  his  melan 
choly  gravity  exercised  a  depressing  effect  upon 
the  family,  especially  upon  Mrs.  McChesney,  who, 
with  the  curious  stupidity  which  sometimes  char 
acterizes  a  bright  woman,  insisted  upon  entertain 
ing  a  man  who  did  not  require  to  be  entertained  at 
all.  But  in  spite  of  his  silence  they  received  the 
impression  that  he  could  be  eloquent  if  necessary, 
an  impression  heightened  by  the  gleam  of  quick 
interest  which  now  and  then  lightened  his  face  at 
a  humorous  speech  from  Philip  or  a  noble  thought 
from  Flora  or  her  father. 

"Hugh?"  said  Mrs.  McChesney  to  her  hus 
band,  as  they  all  congregated  in  the  library  after 
Signor  Ferranti  had  gone,  "  Hugh  " — a  downward 
inflection  this  time — "  did  you  notice  anything  pe- 


38  TEE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

culiar  about  our  guest?  I  do  not  mean  his  man 
ners,  for  he  is  certainly  familiar  with  the  usages  of 
polite  society,  and  I  don't  mean  his  silence,  al 
though  that  is  disagreeable  enough  to  me,  I  am 
sure."  She  continued  with  a  slightly  aggrieved 
air,  "  I  almost  hate  a  man  who  makes  you  feel  as 
if  he  were  punctuating  your  sentences  with  '  use 
less,'  '  silly,'  '  meaningless ' ;  jabbing  the  stiletto 
of  his  logic  through  your  mild  aphorisms,  and 
finally  holding  the  whole  web  of  your  attempted 
conversation  up  to  the  light  of  reason,  just  to  show 
you  how  thin  and  slazy  it  is.  And  all  the  time 
inwardly  congratulating  himself  that  he  doesn't 
say  silly  things.  I  prefer  a  hundred  times  that 
a  man  should  sometimes  say  a  silly  thing  rather 
than  always  appear  like  Atlas  in  our  old  geogra 
phies — burdened  with  the  weight  of  the  world." 

"  Bravo,  little  mother !  "  said  Philip,  putting 
his  arm  about  his  mother's  neck.  "  You  will  al 
ways  love  your  children,  that  is  sure ;  for  they 
have  no  warning  voice  to  guard  them  from  saying 
those  airy  nothings  which  a  very  wise  man  might 
endow  with  a  local  habitation  by  dubbing  them 
'  vulgar  fractions.'  Let  me  see — something  seems 
amiss  there ;  but  they  do  puzzle  the  unwary,  these 
airy  nothings — silly  or  subtle  according  to  the  na 
ture  of  the  owner.  Now,  our  silly  things — " 

"  Are  '  generally  silly,' "  interrupted  Mr.  Mc- 
Chesney.  "  Now,  my  dear  Josephine,  perhaps 


TIIE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  39 

you  will  let  us  know  what  is  so  peculiarly  pecul 
iar  about  Signor  Ferranti." 

"  Oh !  I  mean  his  habit  of  slowly  turning  his 
head  in  a  half-dazed  manner  when  one  speaks  to 
him,  as  if  the  sound  came  from  far  off ;  and  also 
his  habit  of  looking  quickly  over  his  shoulder  now 
and  then,  as  if  annoyed  by  some  invisible  pres 
ence." 

"  I  have  noticed  the  first  habit,  but  it  is  one  so 
common  among  literary  and  musical  people  that  I 
attribute  it  to  the  calm  abstraction  of  genius. 
The  second  habit  I  have  not  noticed.  I  have  had 
time  to  note,  though,  that  Signor  Ferranti  is  a 
man  of  unusual  culture.  This  evening,  when  I 
showed  him  some  of  my  books,  he  handled  my 
'  black  letters '  and  my  Aldine  and  Elzeverian 
imprints  with  the  tender  care  that  marks  a  genu 
ine  book-lover.  He  was  perfectly  fascinated  by 
the  Venetian  '  De  Imitatione,'  1483,  and  by  my 
Peter  Lombard ;  and  he  gave  me  a  most  interest 
ing  account  of  some  fine  vellum  MSS.,  breviaries, 
and  psalters  in  the  possession  of  his  uncle  at  Mil 
an  ;  particularly  of  an  exquisite  Flemish  '  Book  of 
Hours,'  with  floriated  capitals.  His  uncle's  col 
lection  must  be  valuable  and  unique.  And,  my 
dear,  though  Signor  Ferranti  says  little,  he  says 
enough  to  show  sympathy  with  the  thoughts  and 
interests  of  others.  He  is  a  gentleman  and  an 
artist,  and  entitled  to  courtesy  and  recognition 


40  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

in  any  society.  He  is  far  superior  to  the  young 
scions  of  old  families  that  will  not  meet  him  on 
terms  of  social  equality." 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  "  the  difference  there  is  de 
cidedly  in  Ferranti's  favor.  Brain  in  his  case  can 
be  spelled  correctly,  but  in  the  case  of  the  others 
the  '  i '  must  be  left  out," 

"What  do  you  think,  Flora?"  continued  Mr. 
McChesney,  after  a  quiet  chuckle  at  Philip's  sally. 

Flora  glanced  up  from  the  book  she  had  not 
been  reading.  "  He  certainly  is  a  man  of  great 
ability,  but  to  me  there  is  something  mysterious 
and  uncanny  about  him." 

"  Well,  let  us  hope  you  won't  always  see  ghosts 
when  you  play  with  him.  A  man  who  can  play 
the  violin  as  he  does  may  have  the  power  of  hyp 
notic  suggestion."  Philip  yawned,  and  medita 
tively  leaned  against  the  mantel-piece  while  he 
continued :  "  Kalinski  does  get  into  a  dickens  of  a 
humor  sometimes.  He  evidently  hated  Ferranti 
the  other  night  because  he  played  those  Paganini 
studies  so  well ;  and  when  Ferranti  did  that  mar 
velous  '  double-stopping,'  Kalinski  glared  as  if  he 
thought  the  signor  old  Janus  himself.  Kalinski 
is  quite  a  decent  fellow,  on  the  whole  ;  but  talk  of 
mystery — he  gives  me  the  impression  sometimes  of 
being  a  sort  of  suppressed  Jack-in-the  box  who 
might  at  any  moment  pop  up  grinning  and  shak 
ing  his  rattle  of  '  Death  and  Defiance ! '  to  the 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  41 

whole  world.  I  don't  like  to  be  suspicious,  but  I 
could  mistrust  him  sooner  than  I  could  mistrust 
our  silent  Italian." 

"  Come,  come  !  we  are  getting  too  imaginative," 
said  Mr.  McChesney.  "  That  is  the  trouble  with 
the  musically  inclined ;  the  emotional  nature  is 
apt  to  overbalance  the  reasoning  powers." 

"  I  am  glad  our  concert  is  safe,"  Mrs.  McChes 
ney  remarked  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "  That 
is  now  the  main  consideration.  I  can't  bear  to  do 
a  thing  at  all  unless  it  is  done  well,  especially  for 
charity.  I  never  believe  in  compelling  my  friends 
to  listen  to  a  poor  performance,  even  for  charity's 
sake ;  nor  for  that  matter  in  any  entertainment 
the  results  of  which  are  five  hundred  dollars  for 
expenses  and  five  for  charity." 

Mrs.  McChesney  carried  out  her  own  theories. 
In  her  entertainments  given  for  "  The  Hospital," 
"  The  Old  Ladies'  Home,"  and  other  local  chari 
ties,  she  utilized  the  musical  talent  of  her  own 
family  and  of  her  professional  friends,  who,  by 
reason  of  her  kindly  and  unbounded  hospitality, 
offered  freely  their  services.  Decorations  and  re 
freshments  were  simple  and  inexpensive,  and  the 
entire  proceeds  of  each  entertainment  were  given 
to  the  charity  in  question.  For  these  reasons,  and 
from  the  fact  that  tickets  were  only  sold  by  invi 
tation,  it  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  a  concert 
at  the  McChesneys  would  be  well  attended.  This 


42  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

particular  concert  proved  no  exception.  Carriages 
rolled  in  rapid  succession  to  the  door ;  group  after 
group  of  well-dressed  men  and  women  flitted  up 
the  broad  stairway  lined  on  either  side  with  huge 
ferns,  palms,  and  tropical  plants.  When  the  guests 
descended  and  entered  the  library  they  received 
programmes  of  unique  design  from  two  young 
McChesueys,  aged  respectively  eight  and  ten,  both 
dressed,  to  their  own  delight  and  as  a  guarantee  of 
good  behavior,  in  mediaeval  troubadour  costumes. 
The  hostess  received  in  the  long  drawing-room 
back  of  the  library.  She  thus  removed  the  formal, 
funereal  atmosphere  that  in  general  marks  a  par 
lor  concert.  The  guests  quickly  distributed  them 
selves  according  to  pleasure ;  the  more  sedate  went 
to  the  music-room  proper,  or  to  the*  gallery  above, 
which,  crossing  one  side  of  the  room,  afforded 
from  behind  the  carved  railing  surmounted  by 
busts  of  musicians  good  vantage  ground  for  hear 
ing  if  not  for  seeing ;  while  those  who  rejoiced  in 
the  first  heyday  of  youth  sought  secluded  corners 
of  the  conservatory,  library,  and  halls  where,  un 
disturbed  by  admonitory  frowns,  they  could  in 
dulge  in  sly  flirtations,  sibilant  whispers,  and  even 
occasional  giggles. 

The  music-room  had  never  looked  more  invit 
ing.  From  innumerable  lamps  and  wax  candles  a 
soft  light  shone  through  shades  of  delicate  colors. 
In  the  four  corners  of  the  room  were  orancre  trees 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  43 

in  fruit  and  bloom,  their  bases  veiled  by  pots  of 
feathery  ferns,  their  fragrance  filling  the  air  with 
that  indescribable  scent  of  purity  and  loveliness 
combined,  which,  in  addition  to  the  velvet  white 
ness  of  the  blossoms,  has  led  the  poet  to  hold  the 
tree  as  typical  of  chastity  and  the  maid  to  hold 
it  sacred  to  her  wedding-day.  Along  the  gallery 
and  along  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  whose 
plain  light-gray  surface  was  broken  by  the  velvet 
portiere  and  by  three  recesses  containing  bronze 
statues  of  Bach,  Beethoven,  and  Wagner,  were 
festooned  triple  ropes  of  smilax.  These  festoons 
were  caught  up  below  each  bronze  bust  on  the 
gallery  railing  and  above  each  statue's  head  by  a 
cluster  of  solid-colored  chrysanthemums — orange, 
blood-red,  yellow,  or  crimson — placed  against  a 
semicircle  of  radiating  narrow  leaves  of  the  com 
mon  gladiolus.  In  front  of  the  Flemish  cabinet 
stood  a  tall  vase  of  bluish-green  Satsuma  holding 
a  few  immense  plumy  spikes  of  the  brilliant  salt- 
meadow  golden-rod ;  while  before  the  French  win 
dow  clustering  branches  of  the  rose-colored  wild 
aster  and  delicate  white  eupatorium  sprang  up  to 
crown  the  loveliness  of  a  marble  wood-nymph  who 
leaned  against  a  rose-veined  marble  tree-trunk. 

Miss  McChesney  assumed  the  ever  -  thankless 
task  of  opening  the  programme.  She  played  Bach's 
prelude  and  fugue  in  C  sharp  minor — the  fugue 
as  delightful  as  the  prelude  is  uninteresting — and 


44  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

she  received  a  perfunctory  sort  of  applause  due 
more  to  her  charming  appearance  than  to  interest 
in  Bach.  For  it  is  undeniably  and  sadly  true  that 
only  he  who  has  struggled  in  secret  with  the  mys 
teries  of  counterpoint — with  the  meaning  of  sub 
ject,  counter-subject,  episode,  stretto — and  with 
the  manifold  complications  and  possibilities  which 
may  characterize  even  a  strict  and  simple  fugue, 
can  fully  appreciate  the  intellectual  masterpieces 
of  Bach.  The  feeling  that  underlies  their  intellect 
ual  significance  can  no  more  be  comprehended  by 
the  tyro  in  music  than  a  symphony  conducted  by 
Anton  Seidl  can  be  fully  appreciated  by  a  country 
maid  who  only  plays  the  "  Seraphine  "  on  Sunday 
afternoon.  Hence  the  composite  expression  of 
the  audience  during  the  Bach  fugue.  It  might 
be  described  as  puzzled  anxiety  lightened  by  a 
gleam  of  relief  as  the  fugue  came  to  an  end.  A 
bass  solo  followed — Schubert's  "  Erl-King,"  sung 
by  a  German  whose  magnificent  delivery  and  neat 
phrasing  brought  out  appreciative  applause.  With 
a  placid  smile  he  responded  to  an  encore  and 
sang  with  unique  effect  a  trashy  English  ballad. 
"  Goot-pye ;  my  sheep  moost  zail  to-night ;  goot- 
pye,  my  leetle  luff,  goot-pye ! "  he  shouted  to  the 
surprised  audience. 

"  Great  Caesar ! "  whispered  Philip  to  his 
sister,  "  why  didn't  you  look  out  for  his  en 
core  ?  " 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  45 

"  Why  ?  because  I  supposed,  of  course,  he  would 
sing  some  German  lied.  But  his  sublime  uncon 
sciousness  is  worth  seeing,"  she  answered. 

"  Well,  one  person  is  pleased,"  continued  Philip ; 
"look  at  Klinder;  he  is  applauding  for  all  his 
soul  is  worth.  That  is  the  English  he  under 
stands." 

A  'cello  solo  by  Klinder  came  next,  well  played 
with  good  tone  and  fair  technique.  The  next  num 
ber  was  the  Raff  suite.  Flora  seated  herself  at  the 
piano ;  Signor  Ferranti  arranged  the  music  on  the 
violin-stand ;  the  audience  was  absorbed  in  study 
ing  his  appearance.  Instead  of  the  conventional 
evening  dress,  he  wore  a  well  -  fitting  but  rusty 
Prince  Albert  coat,  and  trousers  much  looser  than 
the  prevailing  fashion.  His  sallow  face  was  im 
passive.  Lifting  his  violin  to  his  chin  with  a  ca 
ressing  motion,  he  tossed  back  with  a  quick  move 
ment  of  the  head  a  lock  of  wavy  black  hair  that 
had  fallen  over  his  forehead.  A  feeling  of  disap 
pointment  ran  through  the  audience.  They  did 
not  see  the  gleam  of  fire  under  his  half-closed 
eyelids.  "  How  old  ! "  "  How  ugly ! "  "  How  stiff ! " 
"  How  uninteresting ! "  were  the  comments  passed 
from  one  to  another.  He  nodded  to  Flora  to 
begin. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said ;  "  the  music  of  the 
piano  part  has  disappeared.  I  left  it  on  the  piano 
this  afternoon."  After  an  ineffectual  search  by 


46  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

Philip  and  her  father,  Flora  gave  an  appealing 
glance  to  Signor  Ferranti.  "  What  shall  we  do  ? 
what  can  replace  it  ?  "  she  asked.  Signor  Ferran- 
ti's  eyes  traveled  over  her  as  if  unconsciously  ab 
sorbing  the  effect  of  the  stately  little  head  crowned 
with  golden  hair  and  the  sweet  anxious  face  ris 
ing  above  the  black  tulle  dress.  Flora's  nervous 
white  hands  rolled  and  unrolled  the  ribbon  at 
tached  to  a  black  feather  fan  that  hung  at  her 
waist. 

"  We  need  not  change  the  arrangement  of  the 
programme,"  he  said ;  "  we  can  play  the  Eubin- 
stein  sonata."  There  was  a  command  in  his  eyes. 
As  he  saw  approaching  dissent  in  her  face,  a  mock 
ing  smile  hovered  about  his  lips.  "  Why  are  you 
afraid?"  he  asked,  harshly.  Then  more  gently 
he  continued  :  "  I  am  not  a  demon  calling  spirits 
from  the  misty  deep  to  haunt  an  imaginative 
woman.  Will  you  not  play  it  with  me — you,  the 
goddess  of  flowers,  the  embodiment  of  spring, 
youth,  and  hope  and  love — will  you  play  it  with 
me  whose  life  is  a  long  chill  November  day?" 
Thrilled  by  the  tenderness  of  his  low,  rich  tones, 
Flora  gave  assent.  He  placed  the  music  before 
her ;  his  nostrils  dilated,  his  whole  figure  became 
animated  with  conscious  power. 

They  finished  the  first  movement.  "Is  this 
the  man  whom  we  saw  at  first  ?  "  said  one  in  the 
audience  to  another.  "  He  is  young,  he  is  hand- 


THE  DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  47 

some,"  whispered  the  young  girls.  Swayed  by  ths 
magnetism  that  seemed  to  radiate  from  beneath 
his  drooping  lids,  all  became  silent,  conscious  only 
of  the  wild  sweetness,  the  fire,  the  longing  that 
were  poured  out  in  mysterious  waves  of  sound  from 
the  violin  crying  out  like  a  thing  of  life  the  secrets 
of  that  world  of  feeling  that  lies  beyond  the  reach 
of  words.  What  dainty  freshness  of  love  and  sun 
shine  danced  through  the  scherzo  !  Smiles  curved 
the  lips  of  listeners.  The  young  dreamed  of  the 
rosy  future  and  the  old  saw  again  the  rosy  past. 
A  moment  the  musicians  paused  before  striking 
into  that  strain  of  inspiration  where  like  a  bound 
ing  torrent  the  musical  thought  bursts  all  restrain 
ing  barriers  and  carries  the  listener  along  on  a 
flowing  tide  of  harmony.  But  the  hand  of  the 
violinist  seems  weighted,  the  perspiration  stands 
on  his  forehead,  he  looks  with  terror  toward  the 
piano.  A  false  chord  causes  him  to  start.  With 
an  effort  he  recovers  himself,  and  the  music  rushes 
on  again  with  brilliant  freedom.  A  second  time 
the  strain  appears.  The  violinist's  hand  trembles. 
The  notes  sound  harsh  and  grating — produced  by 
a  powerful  will  struggling  against  some  unseen 
influence.  Nearer  and  nearer  the  players  come  to 
the  sorrowing  climax  of  the  motive.  Ever  they 
struggle,  hurry,  then  drag,  as  held  back  by  myste 
rious  power.  Suddenly : 


48 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 


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r=P— 2Ji e i — 3— P — ~5P       : £ — x^:m 


The  violin  gave  a  shriek  of  despair.  Flora  sprang 
up,  violently  dashed  her  hands  against  the  empty 
air  and  grasped  the  arm  of  the  violinist  with  a 
gesture  of  repulsion. 

"  I  can  not  bear  it,"  she  cried.  "  Send  her 
away  !  That  fearful  woman  !  What  do  3Tou 
mean  ?  "  Her  voice  was  shrill  and  sharp.  For  a 
moment  they  stood  in  this  position.  The  violinist's 
hand  still  held  the  suspended  bow.  A  gray  pallor 
overspread  his  face.  Flora  tottered  and  sunk 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  49 

fainting  at  his  feet.  Like  a  stone  statue  he  looked 
down,  making  no  movement  to  lift  her.  Kalinski 
sprang  forward,  muttering  through  his  teeth : 
"  You  shall  answer  to  me ;  you  have  bewitched 
her  with  your  devilish  magnetism."  Ferranti  ap 
peared  not  to  hear  him.  Flora's  father  and  brother 
carried  her  out  of  the  room.  Then  Ferranti 
picked  up  the  feather  fan  that  had  dropped  from 
her  waist,  laid  his  violin  in  its  case,  put  it  on  the 
piano,  and,  after  fanning  himself  for  a  moment 
with  the  long  black  feathers  of  the  fan,  walked 
slowly  and  easily  out  of  the  room. 

At  this  moment,  roused  as  they  had  been  to 
unusual  excitement  by  the  internal  fire  of  the  mu 
sic,  this  incident  seemed  perfectly  natural  to  the 
greater  portion  of  the  audience.  It  was  a  proper 
climax  to  a  period  of  emotional  intensity.  Death, 
murder,  suicide,  would  hardly  have  surprised  the 
more  excitable ;  and  it  was  almost  with  a  feeling 
of  being  cheated  into  commonplace  acceptance  of 
every-day  life  that  these  latter  listened  to  the  an 
nouncement  soon  made  by  Mr.  McChesney  that 
his  daughter  was  merely  suffering  from  a  slight 
nervous  attack,  and  that  the  programme  would  be 
continued  after  a  brief  intermission. 

Nothing  could  have  more  certainly  proved  the 

power  of  Signor  Ferranti  over  an  audience  than 

the  manner  in  which  he  held  attention  after  this 

interruption.      Hungarian     dances    wherein    the 

4 


50  THE   DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

notes  leaped  from  the  violin  like  sparks  of  fire 
preluding  an  outburst  of  sudden  flame,  then  a 
humorous  scherzo  through  which  seemed  to  laugh 
a  crowd  of  jostling,  bustling  gnomes  peering  above 
the  ground  and  from  behind  their  rocky  homes  to 
mock  at  the  emotions  of  humanity,  gradually 
threw  the  listeners  into  a  mood  of  sympathetic 
good-humor.  From  the  changed  atmosphere  it 
seemed  as  if  all  had  surrendered  their  wills  to  the 
will  of  this  remarkable  man  who  remained  as  in 
attentive  to  applause  as  he  had  been  to  curiosity. 
The  pretty  soprano  who  followed  Ferranti  was,  in 
comparison,  but  an  animated  bit  of  Dresden  china, 
piping  without  feeling  the  loves  and  hates  of  a 
pygmy  world.  Largeness,  warmth,  and  color  came 
again  with  the  violinist ;  and  when  he  carried  the 
players  in  a  whirlwind  of  excitement  through  the 
Beethoven  quartet,  a  storm  of  applause  burst  forth 
spontaneously  and  broke  up  all  reserve  as  quickly 
as  a  whirlwind  breaks  the  brittle  branches  of  a 
forest  of  dead  trees. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WITHIN  a  week  the  incident  that  had  marred  the 
musicale  had  been  forgotten  by  the  guests,  or,  if 
spoken  of  at  all,  it  was  attributed  to  nervous  ex 
citement  and  laid  away  in  the  memory  of  thought 
ful  parents  as  a  warning  against  too  intimate  ac 
quaintance  with  professionals  and  too  absorbing 
interest  in  one  pursuit.  Gossip  however  contin 
ued  to  busy  itself  with  Signor  Ferranti.  With 
that  unanimity  of  opinion  found  in  some  suburban 
towns  where  the  inhabitants  regard  all  foreigners 
with  suspicion,  it  was  confidently  asserted  that  he 
was  a  Polish  Jew  of  low  birth,  exiled  to  this  coun 
try  for  political  misdemeanors ;  that  he  was  a  Rus 
sian  count,  incognito,  and  by  necessary  sequence 
a  Nihilist  and  a  polygamist ;  that  he  was  a  Hindoo 
priest  striving  secretly  to  gain  disciples  in  occult 
mysteries ;  that  he  was  a  Jesuit  using  his  musical 
talent  to  lead  Flora  McChesney  and  her  fortune 
toward  the  yawning  portals  of  the  Romish  Church. 
A  few  business  men,  with  no  love  for  the  divine 
art,  pooh-poohed  these  surmises  and  declared  that 
he  was,  in  all  probability,  some  poor  devil  from 


52  TEE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

the  London  slums,  who  had  found  an  easy  way  of 
making  money  through  his  violin  and  magnetic 
eyes,  and  the  credulity  of  the  gentler  sex.  Some 
of  the  bravest  leaders  of  society  sent  him  invita 
tions  to  dinners  and  receptions ;  for  though  (they 
said  among  themselves)  his  name  might  be  as 
sumed  his  musical  talent  could  not  be,  and  an 
artist  really  deserved  recognition ;  and  they  sup 
plemented  this  noble  sentiment  by  the  private 
after-thought  that  an  artist  was  a  useful  piece  of 
odd  mental  bric-a-brac  to  stand  among  the  ordi 
nary  collection  in  one's  drawing-room  at  an  after 
noon  tea  or  evening  reception. 

But  Signor  Ferranti  declined  all  invitations. 
Neither  for  love  nor  money  would  he  play  except 
ing  at  the  concerts  in  New  York  for  which  he  was 
engaged.  Neither  for  love  nor  money  would  he 
appear  in  any  drawing-room.  He  remained  for 
the  most  part  in  his  room  at  the  boarding-house ; 
but  every  day  he  took  long  walks  and  explored 
the  level  country  for  miles  around.  During  these 
walks  he  would  often  stand  still  for  fifteen  or 
twenty  minutes  at  a  time,  to  gaze  from  some  eleva 
tion  at  the  far-off  horizon  line  where  the  distant 
water  of  the  bay  touched  the  bending  sky ;  or  to 
look,  as  if  transfixed,  at  a  clump  of  those  half- 
developed  but  richly  colored  trees  that  cluster  on 
the  meadows  and  in  the  waste  places  near  and 
around  Medalhurst.  He  suffered  in  the  estima- 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  53 

tion  of  the  inhabitants  for  such  peculiarities.  The 
average  resident  saw  no  beauty  in  the  broad  open 
fields,  shorn  of  their  harvest  and  covered  now  with 
low  stubble,  dry  grass,  or  rows  of  cornstalks  be 
tween  which  might  be  seen  the  silvery  whiteness 
of  that  weed  which,  like  a  wreath  of  mist  from  sur 
rounding  hills,  clings  to  the  bare  ugliness  of  our 
autumn  fields  ;  nor  in  the  long  stretches  of  mead 
ow  shaded  through  all  the  tints  of  brown,  gray, 
and  green,  and  lit  here  and  there  with  patches  of 
bright  red ;  nor  in  the  level  roads  of  reddish  clay, 
running,  as  if  to  escape  from  the  sun,  through 
groves  of  yellow  elms,  red  and  purplish  maples, 
and  cool  green  hemlocks,  pines,  and  spruces.  No ; 
the  average  resident  was  not  discriminating  in  the 
matter  of  fine  shades,  delicate  outlines,  and  softly 
blended  harmony  of  sky  and  open  field.  He  re 
quired  a  slap-dash  torrent,  a  bold  and  vigorous 
precipice,  a  mountain  scaling  the  sky,  and  a  can 
on  piercing  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  to  awaken 
his  stagnant  love  of  nature.  He  therefore  saw  in 
these  lonely  musings  of  Signor  Ferranti  only  evi 
dences  of  cerebral  inactivity  which  rendered  the 
signor  indifferent  alike  to  comment  and  to  the 
average  resident  of  Medalhurst. 

The  signor  was  not,  however,  entirely  indiffer 
ent  to  his  human  brethren.  Once  a  week  he  dined 
at  the  McChesneys'  and  remained  to  play  in  the 
evening.  Here  in  this  atmosphere  of  courtesy,  re- 


54:  THE  DOMIXANT  SEVENTH. 

finement,  and  appreciation,  he  gradually  lost  some 
thing  of  his  austerity.  Indeed,  it  may  generally 
be  noted  that  when  genius  is  appreciated  for  its 
own  worth,  the  response  of  genius  is  satisfactory. 
The  McChesney  family  reaped  the  full  reward  of 
their  comprehension.  Sometimes,  when  music 
had  lifted  him  to  a  mood  of  unwonted  cheerful 
ness,  he  would  delight  those  gathered  in  the  mu 
sic  room  with  anecdotes  of  famous  musicians 
whom  he  had  known  ;  he  would  describe  their  pe 
culiarities,  their  different  interpretations  of  cele 
brated  compositions,  their  feats  of  skill ;  and  he 
revealed  unconsciously  in  these  monologues  that 
he  had  been  on  terms  of  intimate  friendship  with 
those  of  whom  he  spoke.  Sometimes  he  would 
give  his  own  theories  in  regard  to  the  progress 
and  development  of  music ;  and  in  doing  so  he 
showed  that  he  held  to  the  tenets  of  the  advanced 
Wagnerites  with  all  the  force  of  a  naturally  warm 
and  impetuous  nature — a  nature  which,  however 
controlled  and  repressed  by  the  deep  sorrows  which 
had  evidently  chilled  his  intercourse  with  human 
ity  in  general,  would  betray  itself  in  these  earnest 
talks.  But  he  also  showed  to  his  listeners  that  in 
the  liberality  and  soundness  of  his  views  he  far 
surpassed  the  partisan  followers  of  Wagner. 

"  I  believe,"  he  said  one  evening  in  answer  to 
a  question  from  Mr.  McChesney,  "  that  in  Wag 
ner's  music  we  have  the  legitimate  climax  of  all 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  55 

that  lias  gone  before  in  musical  expression ;  and 
that  we  all  have  the  right  to  push  on  beyond 
Wagner  if  we  choose — or  perhaps  I  should  say,  if 
we  can — only  limiting  ourselves  or  being  limited 
by  our  superiors  in  the  knowledge  of  the  general 
laws  of  art,  and  by  our  own  capacity  of  interpre 
tation.  If  any  one,  like  Spontini  or  Berlioz,  feels 
within  himself  a  power  of  forceful  dramatic  ex 
pression  which  enables  him  to  draw  out  orches- 
trally  the  hidden  meaning  of  a  subject  or  a  phrase 
and  to  impress  it  strongly  upon  a  listener's  mind, 
such  a  one  must  be  true  to  his  own  insight,  how 
ever  he  may  be  laughed  at  by  contemporaries. 
Otherwise,  he  is  unworthy  the  name  of  musician." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  McChesney,  taking  ad 
vantage  of  Ferranti's  momentary  hesitation,  "  cer 
tainly.  The  searcher  after  truth  must  learn  to 
pay  no  attention  to  the  bickerings  in  Philistia. 
If  he  does,  he  will  end  literally  by  flinging  his 
earnestness  to  the  dogs." 

"  Impoverishing  himself  to  furnish  them  with 
a  temporary  bone  of  contention,"  added  Philip, 
expansively. 

"  The  true  musician,  the  true  composer,"  con 
tinued  Ferranti,  with  that  steady,  unseeing  gaze 
which  betokens  a  man  too  occupied  with  the  main 
current  of  thought  to  heed  its  murmuring  tribu 
taries,  "  the  true  genius  shall  seek  constantly  for 
new  effects,  for  new  combinations  of  old  laws ;  the 


56  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

performer  shall  recognize  that  the  power  of  re 
producing  is  in  reality  of  the  same  value  as  the 
power  of  creation,  for  without  reproduction  crea 
tive  work  can  not  live ;  and  the  performer  or  in 
terpreter  shall  not  hesitate  to  increase  effects  be 
yond  the  limit  set  by  the  composer,  if  the  spirit  of 
the  times  compels.  He  must  consider  particularly 
the  composer's  relation  to  the  time  when  his  work 
is  presented,  which  time  may  require  a  different 
degree  of  intensity  in  emotional  expression  from 
that  required  by  the  time  when  his  work  was 
created.  The  performer  or  interpreter  must,  of 
course,  from  this  point  of  view,  have  the  delicate 
perception  of  a  true  artist,  and  an  accurate  knowl 
edge  of  the  requirements  of  his  own  age.  The 
listener  and  the  critic,  too  (who  should,  in  order 
to  criticise  this  most  subtle  of  all  arts,  be  a  born 
musician)  ought  always  to  hold  themselves  in  the 
attitude  of  those  who  would  further  and  not 
hinder  progress.  Educated  by  the  genius  of  Wag 
ner,  there  will  probably  be  in  days  to  come  a  com 
poser  who  will  surpass  Wagner.  Orchestral  im 
provements  still  broader, '  regular  irregularities  '  of 
form,  and  new  rhythmic  effects  will  be  the  coming 
composer's  weapons  to  rule  the  musical  world." 

"  You  give  him  a  hopeless  task  when  you  ask 
that  he  shall  surpass  Wagner,"  Kalinski  said. 
"  How  can  he  ?  " 

"  First,  by  becoming  thoroughly  familiar  with 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  57 

all  the  theories  upon  which  Wagner's  masterpieces 
are  built.  While  Wagner  is  a  poor  guide  as  a 
musical  critic,  since  he  was  unable  to  focus  his 
gaze  correctly  upon  his  contemporaries,  he  is  the 
most  remarkable  teacher  of  musical  ethics  that 
has  yet  appeared.  Wagner  did  not  write  his 
works  according  to  his  theories,  but  wrote  his 
theories  according  to  his  works.  His  works  show 
the  spontaneity  of  genius ;  and  the  philosophical 
laws  that  he  gives  us  are  the  aftermath  of  a  genius. 
From  the  philosophical  nature  of  his  mind,  from 
his  instinctive  grasping  for  eternal  laws,  his  operas 
reveal,  as  Beethoven's  symphonies  reveal,  an  ever- 
ascending  scale  of  completeness.  Now,  the  com 
ing  musician  must  absorb  all  that  has  been  done, 
must  place  himself  in  sympathy  with  his  own  age, 
and  yet  perceive,  with  the  intuition  of  genius, 
the  wants  of  the  age  to  come,  as  Wagner  under 
stood  his  own  and  the  coming  age.  The  rest 
less  spirit  of  modern  life  has  found  expression 
through  Wagner's  genius  in  modern  music ;  as  the 
restlessness  of  a  previous  time  found  grand  and 
satisfactory  solution  in  the  sublimity  and  peace  of 
Beethoven's  greatest  works,  so  ought  the  restless 
intellectual  excitement  that  animates  the  works 
of  Berlioz,  Rubinstein,  Dvorak,  Brahms,  and  Wag 
ner  find  at  length  its  triumphant  resolution  in 
some  master  of  a  corning  age  who,  with  all  the 
resources  these  workers  have  gathered,  will  use 


58  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

them  to  show  once  more  to  humanity,  in  the  di- 
vinest  of  all  arts,  the  peace  that  comes  in  cycles  to 
the  great  world-soul  struggling  upward  step  by 
step.  The  triumph  shall  come  again  as  in  Beetho 
ven — submission  to  the  will  of  the  universe,  obedi 
ence  to  ultimate  good." 

"And  out  of  what  land  shall  come  thiss — • 
"W'eltbez winger  ?  "  asked  Klinder,  gazing  placidly 
over  his  spectacles  at  the  enthusiastic  speaker. 

Kalinski  sprang  up  quickly.  "  France  !  The 
whole  progress  of  music  shows  the  power  of  France. 
Italy  was  ruled  by  her,  Germany  had  to  learn 
from  her  in  order  to  gain  present  supremacy. 
France  has  dramatic  intensity,  quick  perception, 
and  the  intellect  to  seize  an  opportunity." 

Klinder  looked  with  inexpressible  scorn  at  the 
Eusso  -  Frenchman.  "  S-s-o  ?  Ye-e-s,"  he  said, 
slowly ;  "  France  can  always  seize  the  right  op 
portunity — at  the  wrong  time." 

"America,"  said  Mr.  McChesney,  "is  really 
most  likely  to  be  the  birthplace  of  this  genius, 
perhaps  even  in  another  century.  The  American 
shows  in  art  the  resistless  spirit  of  progress;  he 
scorns  tradition,  he  seeks  new  laws,  and  by  the 
fusion  of  various  nationalities  he  will  acquire 
German  thoroughness,  French  vivacity,  Italian 
warmth,  and  Russian  force." 

"Japanese  patience,  Scotch  shrewdness,  and 
Irish  humor  you  should  add  to  your  list  of  ingredi- 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  59 

ents  for  making  a  genius.  With  due  deference  to 
you,  father,  I  say  that  genius  can't  very  well  be 
molded  in  the  pudding-dish  of  any  one's  imagina 
tion.  A  genius,  to  my  mind,  is  a  sort  of  miracle 
created  at  any  time  and  at  any  place  by  the  opera 
tion  of  unknown  laws."  Philip  said  this  earnestly, 
and  then,  as  if  his  dictum  settled  the  matter,  he 
walked  to  the  piano  and  began  to  wrestle  with  the 
intricate  chords  of  the  Pilgrim's  chorus  from 
"  Tannhauser." 

Kalinski  was  the  only  one  who  never  took 
such  conversations  with  good-humor.  His  inward 
rebellion  at  Ferranti's  influence  and  superior  men 
tal  powers  manifested  itself  on  this  evening,  as  on 
several  others,  by  asserting  the  dignity  of  the 
second  violin  above  the  first.  They  played  this 
night  some  of  Haydn's  string  quartets,  which, 
however  unsatisfactory  in  harmonic  treatment  to 
ears  trained  to  the  richer  modulations  of  Schu 
mann,  Beethoven,  and  Wagner,  yet  impress  any 
genuine  musician  with  their  varying  and  melodi 
ous  themes  and  exquisite  unity  of  form.  In  a 
broad  and  simple  adagio  Kalinski's  petty  spiteful- 
ness  hatefully  obtruded  through  the  calm  and  ten 
der  sentiment  of  the  movement.  Ferranti  took 
no'notice  of  any  eccentricities  until  the  end  of  the 
adagio.  Then,  laying  down  his  violin,  he  pointed 
to  the  bust  of  Haydn  looking  down  majestically 
from  the  gallery. 


60  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

"  How  do  you  think  that  manner  of  playing 
would  suit  the  composer  ?  A  true  musician  for 
gets  himself  and  his  own  secret  annoyances  when 
he  tries  to  interpret  the  great  masters.  You  do 
yourself  injustice." 

At  this  gentle  but  just  rebuke,  Kalinski  red 
dened,  bit  his  lip,  and  showed  for  an  instant  the 
gleam  of  white  teeth  under  his  bristling  black 
mustache. 

When  Kalinski  went  away  Philip  went  with 
him  to  the  hall.  As  Kalinski  drew  on  his  over 
coat  abruptly,  he  gazed  at  Philip  with  a  wild  stare 
of  unhappiness.  "  I  am  going  mad,  I  believe. 
Oh  !  if  he  had  never  come  your  sister  might  have 
loved  me !  Already  she  had  begun  to  trust  me. 
And  I  must  see  him  take  her  from  me  !  Mon 
Dieu  !  Ma  peine — que  c'est  affreuse  !  "  and  he 
brushed  his  hand  swiftly  acros?  his  forehead. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  old  friend,"  said  Philip,  placing 
his  hand  gently  upon  Kalinski's  shoulder,  "  be 
lieve  me,  your  theories  are  wrong.  If  my  sister 
could  have  loved  you  or  had  loved  you,  no  other 
man  could  win  her  from  you.  She  is  not  a  weak- 
minded  girl  to  be  swayed  by  changing  fancies. 
And  you  are  mistaken.  Ferranti  seldom  speaks  to 
her ;  he  talks  to  father  and  myself ;  he  has  a  heart 
only  for  his  violin.  Her  interest  and  sympathy 
are  those  of  one  musician  for  another.  These 
feelings  are  unworthy  of  you." 


THE  DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  61 

In  Philip's  honest  brown  eyes  gleamed  so  di 
vine  a  tenderness  that  the  bitterness  passed  out  of 
Kalinski's  face  as  suddenly  as  a  shadow  is  ban 
ished  by  a  sunbeam.  He  grasped  Philip's  hand 
silently,  and  silently  went  out  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

WHILE  it  was  quite  true,  as  Philip  said,  that 
Ferranti  had  apparently  made  no  attempt  to  win 
Flora's  favor  and  had  apparently  bestowed  his  at 
tention  entirely  upon  Mr.  McChesney  and  Philip, 
there  was  yet  an  undercurrent  of  feeling  between 
the  signor  and  Flora  that  ran  too  deep  for  even 
an  interested  observer  to  perceive.  Although 
Flora  McChesney  was  too  proud  to  give  her  love 
unsought,  she  was  strongly  attracted  by  the  first 
man  of  intellect  and  refinement  who  had  so  long 
remained  indifferent  to  her  charms.  A  true 
woman  in  this  respect  she  indulged  in  much 
speculation  as  to  the  causes  of  his  silence  and  in 
difference.  Only  in  the  music  could  she  feel  that  his 
spirit  spoke  to  hers.  Xow  and  then  she  caught  a 
glance  of  admiration  at  the  end  of  some  brilliant 
passage  of  great  difficulty,  or  heard  a  word  of 
praise  in  Italian,  spoken  as  if  to  himself,  when  she 
had  followed  his  mood  with  perfect  comprehension 
in  some  concerted  piece.  So  it  had  been  until 
one  afternoon  soon  after  the  preceding  brief  con 
versation  between  Philip  and  Kalinski.  Ferranti 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  63 

had  come  to  play  a  new  sonata  for  piano  and  violin 
by  Heinrich  Hoffmann.  They  were  alone  in  the 
music  room,  and  both  played  with  that  enthusiasm 
which  inspires  the  musician  at  the  first  trial  of  a 
new  and  interesting  composition.  Flora  surpassed 
herself,  conquering  technical  difficulties  with  un 
usual  ease  and  accuracy. 

"  I  could  never  do  that  again,"  she  sighed,  as 
she  closed  the  music  and  looked  up  at  him,  her 
cheeks  red  with  excitement.  "  It  is  your  magnifi 
cent  playing  that  lifts  me  above  myself." 

Ferranti  came  and  stood  close  beside  her,  and 
bent  upon  her  a  look  of  such  earnestness  that, 
disturbed  by  the  feeling  in  his  eyes,  she  dropped 
her  own  while  the  color  crept  to  her  very  forehead. 
He  put  out  his  hand  and  clasped  hers  with  a  warm, 
strong  grasp.  There  was  no  need  of  words ;  Flora 
knew  in  that  moment  that  they  loved  each  other — 
that  their  souls  had  met  in  spiritual  union — divine 
prelude  to  the  blending  of  two  earthly  songs  in 
one  harmonious  strain.  But  Ferranti  dropped 
her  hand  almost  as  quickly  as  he  had  taken  it. 
He  turned  away  and  walked  to  the  window,  where 
he  stood,  neither  of  them  could  have  told  how 
long,  watching  the  snow  fast  falling  over  the  pine 
trees  and  the  bare  elm  branches,  and  covering  with 
its  quiet  flakes  the  level  stretch  of  lawn  that  sloped 
downward  from  the  house.  Presently  he  came 
toward  her  again ;  but  all  life  and  animation  had 


(14  TUE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

vanished  from  his  face.  He  seemed  not  to  have 
sufficient  vitality  even  to  toss  back  the  lock  of 
hair  which  had  fallen  over  his  forehead  and 
which  intensified  by  its  blackness  the  gray  pall 
or  of  the  face.  Forgetting  herself  and  all  other 
feeling  save  that  of  tender  sympathy,  Flora  said 
gently : 

"  Oh,  signor,  can  not  you  be  happy  in  your 
music  ?  " 

By  these  words  she  recognized  the  affection  he 
had  not  told,  and  also  the  barrier  that  existed  to 
separate  them.  Ferranti  understood  her. 

"  Signorina,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone  as  he  drew 
a  chair  near  the  piano.  "  The  snow  is  falling  fast 
outside,  the  trees  are  bare,  the  earth  is  still  and 
lifeless ;  but  it  is  only  for  a  time ;  the  spring  will 
bring  fresh  blossoms  from  the  earth,  young  golden- 
green  leaves  from  the  withered  trees,  and  rays  of 
tender  sunlight  will  shine  upon  the  lawn  in  place 
of  the  cold  white  snow.  Not  so  with  my  life ; 
there  it  must  be  winter  now  and  forever.  Only 
in  my  music  do  I  find  sunshine.  But  I  ought  not 
to  sadden  your  life  even  for  a  moment  with  sor 
rows  of  my  own.  Once — " 

He  bit  his  lip  and  checked  the  coming  words. 

"  But  the  world  is  before  you  to  conquer  with 
your  music.  Nature  and  art  are  both  ready  to 
soothe  your  troubles  and  to  give  you  peace,  even  if 
you  can  not  have  the  highest  happiness.  And  is 


THE  DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  65 

it  nothing  that  friends  are  near  you  to  give  you 
silent  sympathy  ?  " 

Ferranti  gave  an  expressive  backward  move 
ment  of  the  hand. 

"  Fame  ?  Only  to  him  who  can  not  win  it 
does  it  gleam  like  a  star  instead  of  a  bit  of  colored 
glass.  Nature  breathes  of  love ;  art,  too,  whispers 
of  love,  of  warm  human  affection  which  may  not, 
must  not,  be  mine." 

A  chill  struck  to  Flora's  heart.  But  though 
she  felt  the  determination  and  the  despair  of  these 
words,  she  could  not  be  altogether  unhappy.  He 
loved  her,  he  would  have  told  her  so  if  he  could. 
Love  came  to  her,  as  to  so  many  others,  hand  in 
hand  with  sorrow;  but  at  least  she  was  not  cheated  of 
her  right  to  know  his  love.  This  for  the  moment 
was  supreme  consolation  and  lightened  the  shadow 
of  necessary  repression.  She  did  not  attempt 
during  the  silence  that  ensued  to  evade  the  ques 
tions  that  came  before  her ;  she  did  not  disguise 
to  herself,  as  a  weaker  woman  might,  the  fact  that 
she  loved  the  man  of  whom  she  knew  so  little  and 
who  could  not  tell  her  of  his  love ;  she  accepted 
the  inevitable,  the  bitter  with  the  sweet,  and  she 
knew  instinctively,  even  though  she  could  not 
formulate  her  knowledge,  that  these  holy  flames 
now  flashing  across  her  heart  would  prove  a  puri 
fying  fire  and  not  an  all-consuming  fire. 

Presently  he  went  on  in  a  low,  gentle  tone  : 
5 


66  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

"  There  was  once  a  man  walking  through  a 
forest.  His  way  had  been  rough  and  full  of 
dangers,  his  journey  long  and  tiresome.  He  was 
lonely  and  unhappy.  Just  as  he  was  thinking 
bitter  thoughts  he  stepped  into  an  open  place 
where  the  blue  sky  arched  above  the  delicate  lac 
ings  of  the  tree  tops,  and  the  warm  sun  touched 
with  gold  the  lusty  banks  of  ferns  that  seemed  to 
bound  in  joyous  life  away  into  the  shadows  of  the 
pine  trees  guarding  the  rocky  hills  on  either  side. 
A  white  dove  fluttered  down  from  an  overhanging 
branch,  lit  on  his  hand  and  pecked  at  his  sleeve ; 
to  him  it  was  the  expression  of  sympathy  from  all- 
powerful  Nature.  As  he  held  for  a  moment  the 
tender  fluttering  thing  in  his  strong  hands,  the 
thought  crossed  his  mind  to  endeavor  to  imprison 
it,  to  woo  it  to  always  cheer  his  solitude,  to  be  the 
tangible  link  between  him  and  the  warm  human 
world.  But  better  thoughts  prevailed.  What ! 
cage  it  from  the  sunny  freedom  of  an  unstained 
life  ?  For  a  selfish  pleasure  of  his  own  to  hold  it 
in  bondage  ?  No !  a  thousand  times,  no  !  " 

And  Ferranti  here  arose  and  grasped  the  chair- 
back  firmly  with  one  hand  while  he  raised  the 
other  with  a  fervid  gesture.  He  lowered  his  voice 
again  as  he  dropped  his  hand. 

"  Tenderness  and  protection  for  the  loveliest  of 
God's  creatures  who  know  not  their  own  danger 
is  the  duty  of  the  strong.  The  man,  tired  and 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  67 

hungry  and  desolate  as  he  might  be,  saw  no  excuse 
for  caging  the  dove  that  innocently  fluttered  near 
him.  He  held  his  hands;  and  he  watched  the 
dove  soar  again  to  the  freedom  of  the  upper  blue 
and  fade,  far  in  the  distance,  into  the  pure  white 
clouds  beyond  his  reach." 

The  rich,  musical  tones  died  away  in  almost  a 
whisper.  Flora  had  looked  steadily  in  his  face  as 
he  spoke,  and,  Avon  by  the  spiritual  gentleness 
which  softened  the  lines  of  suffering,  she  went  up 
to  him  with  instinctive  confidence  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  the  slender  nervous  hand  that  rested 
still  on  the  back  of  the  chair. 

"  You  will  be  my  friend  ?  "  she  said  quietly. 

"  Always ;  God  grant  it,  signorina,"  he  said,  in 
a  repressed,  husky  voice ;  but  he  made  no  move 
ment  to  detain  her  as  she  left  the  room. 

After  this  day  Flora  allowed  herself  no  inter 
course  with  Ferranti  save  through  the  music  which 
they  played  together.  Although  he  seemed  a 
shade  more  melancholy,  and  seemed  daily  to  grow 
thinner,  he  talked  more  brilliantly  than  ever,  rous 
ing  always  the  best  thoughts  of  others  and  giving 
out  unstintedly  the  treasures  of  knowledge  he  had 
accumulated.  He  had  known  how  to  throw  away 
the  chaff  and  put  rich  golden  grain  into  the  great 
storehouse  of  memory,  and  he  was  not  one  of 
those  intellectual  misers  who,  fearing  to  benefit 
some  poorer  brother  whom  circumstance  would 


68  TIIE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

not  permit  to  glean  the  field  of  wisdom,  leave  the 
harvest  they  have  gathered  to  rot  in  musty  rich 
ness.  He  recognized  that  the  law  of  life  is  to 
give  freely ;  so  only  shall  one  be  saved  from  the 
torpor — death. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  winter  passed  quietly  away.  Mr.  Mc- 
Chesney  interested  himself  more  and  more  in  the 
collection  of  rare  manuscripts,  a  hobby  to  which 
a  new  impetus  had  been  given  by  the  gift  from 
Ferranti  of  original  scores  of  Beethoven,  Mozart, 
and  Mendelssohn.  Kalinski  kept  persistently  away 
from  the  house,  so  Philip  with  some  instruction 
from  Ferranti  had  developed  his  natural  talent  so 
far  as  to  be  able  to  fill  Kalinski's  place  in  the  quar 
tet.  Had  it  not  been  for  a  certain  languor  and 
occasional  fits  of  depression  which  Mrs.  McChesney 
noticed  in  Flora  and  which  aroused  some  uneasiness 
in  her  mother's  mind,  there  would  have  been  noth 
ing  to  mar  the  even  tenor  of  life  at  Strathcarron. 

One  evening  in  early  March  they  were  all  gath 
ered  in  the  music  room.  It  was  one  of  those  even 
ings  when  the  frosty  air  and  blustering  winds 
without  cause  one  to  turn  with  keen  appreciation 
to  the  cheerfulness  within.  They  were  all  espe 
cially  merry,  and  when  the  door-bell  rang  and 
the  voice  of  Kalinski  was  heard,  Flora  made  a 
charming  little  moue  at  Ferranti  and  elevated  her 


70  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

eyebrows  as  if  to  say  "  Now  our  comfort  will  be 
spoiled."  Kalinski  entered,  inflated  with  good- 
humor,  like  some  previously  despondent  rubber 
cushion  with  its  long-forgotten  quota  of  air.  He 
seemed  much  taller  than  usual.  His  bushy  whisk 
ers  were  parted  and  carefully  brushed  each  way, 
while  his  bristling  hair  being  closely  cropped  no 
longer  intensified  his  aggressive  facial  character 
istics.  He  was  faultlessly  dressed,  wore  a  red  car 
nation  in  his  button-hole,  and,  contrary  to  his  usual 
custom,  had  seen  that  his  nails  were  carefully  pol 
ished  and  trimmed.  He  proceeded  to  make  him 
self  universally  agreeable,  even  to  the  extent  of 
politeness  to  Signor  Ferranti.  He  took  his  usual 
place  in  the  quartet. 

"  What  is  going  to  happen  ?  "  said  Flora,  as  she 
crossed  the  room  and  sat  down  on  a  low  divan 
near  the  large  easy- chair  occupied  by  her  mother. 
"  Mr.  Kalinski  is  himself  again.  He  is  almost  en 
durable  to-night.  He  seems  possessed  by  some 
pleasant  secret.  Perhaps  he  has  fallen  in  love 
with  some  responsive  being." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  that  is  the  first  thing  you  young 
people  think  of  as  desirable.  Let  us  think  of  him 
as  having  met  with  some  material  piece  of  good 
fortune." 

"  Why,  mother,  how  can  you !  You — to  be 
cynical,  when  you  have  been  so  happy  yourself ! 
Is  there  any  greater  blessing  than — " 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH  71 

"  My  child,"  said  the  mother,  with  a  soft  sigh, 
"  I  was  not  thinking  of  myself."  And  her  eyes 
dwelt  a  moment  on  her  daughter's  rounded  cheek 
and  then  wandered  on  to  the  sallow  profile  of  the 
Italian  who  was  bending  over  some  music  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room.  Ah,  that  mother  instinct ! 
too  keen  to  be  thwarted  even  by  the  seemingly 
placid  exterior  of  a  loved  child  !  Guided  only  by 
instinct,  the  mother  goes  to  the  hoarded  store  of 
sweetness  within  the  shrinking  heart  as  unerring 
ly  as  the  wild  bee  speeds  his  way  to  the  honey  in 
far-off  apple  blooms.  She  will  read  the  signs  of 
secret  trouble  that  no  other  eye  can  see,  and  grasp 
your  every  thought  while  you  fondly  think  your 
sorrows  are  your  own.  But  if  she  be  a  wise  mother 
she  bides  her  time  for  speaking.  Though  not  a 
woman  of  great  mental  power,  Mrs.  McChesney 
possessed  the  rare  virtue  of  knowing  when  to  talk 
and  when  to  keep  silent.  For  the  present,  then, 
she  leaned  back  easily  in  her  chair  with  her  fleecy 
white-wool  knitting  in  her  hands;  but  she  now 
and  then  cast  a  thoughtful  glance  at  Flora's 
graceful  Psyche-like  head,  bent  slightly  forward 
in  rapt  attention  to  the  exquisite  harmonies  that 
proceeded  from  the  now  sympathetic  quartet. 

"  This  Schubert  music,  coming  after  the 
Brahms  movement,  is  like  the  music  of  a  running 
brook  coming  after  the  clatter  of  a  saw  mill,"  said 
Philip  when  the  last  chords  died  away. 


72  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

"  Or  rather,"  said  Flora  quickly,  "  like  a  smil 
ing  landscape  after  a  thunder-storm ;  for  Brahms 
is  strong  and  powerful,  and  he  has  a  definite  place 
in  music,  as  the  thunder  and  lightning  have  in 
the  world  of  nature.  He  seems  rough  indeed 
sometimes,  when  he  breaks  over  the  forms  and 
conventionalities  of  a  past  age,  hut  he  opens  the 
way  for  new  beauties  in  the  music  landscape. 
Destruction  must  prepare  the  way  for  improve 
ment.  Brahms  is  more  a  destroyer  than  a  beauti- 
fier;  but  his  music  is  never  like  the  clatter  of  a 
saw  mill.  I  am  surprised  at  you,  Philip ! "  and 
Flora  tried  to  frown. 

"  Don't  be  hard  on  a  clumsy  fellow,  Flo.  That 
was  only  a  figure  of  speech." 

"A  decidedly  wooden  one,  too,"  answered 
Flora ;  "  like  the  Indian  before  a  cigar  store." 

"  Pointing  to  treasures  within  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  which  end  in  smoke." 

"  You  seem  to  like  the  indicative  mood,  belle 
sceur,"  Philip  quickly  continued. 

"And  present  tense." 

"  Or  tense  present,"  laughed  Philip.  "  Wom 
en  seldom  generalize  enough  to  use  future 
tenses." 

"  But  they  particularize  well,"  answered  Flora ; 
"  and  it  is  from  details  that  men  are  enabled  to 
generalize." 

"  Oh,  surely ;  I  grant  that  to  particular  eyes 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  73 

men  owe  much  knowledge   of  a  certain  kind. 
Doesn't  Moore  say — 

My  only  books  were  women's  looks, 
And  folly's  all  they've  taught  me." 

"But  what  does  the  greater  Shakespeare  say? 
spoke  Ferranti  quickly,  noting  in  a  flash  Flora's 
nonplused  look. 

"  From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive : 
They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire ; 
They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  Academes — 
That  show  contain  and  nourish  all  the  world." 

"  Two  against  one — no  wonder  I  am  beaten," 
Philip  exclaimed. 

"  But  apropos  of  Brahms,"  said  Ferranti,  re 
turning  Flora's  grateful  glance  with  a  half  smile ; 
"  Do  you  remember  the  story  told  not  long  ago 
about  Yon  Billow  conducting  a  Brahms  symphony 
at  Vienna  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Philip ;  "  let's  have  it.  A  plaster, 
I  suppose,  to  soothe  my  lacerated  logic." 

"  That  is  as  you  take  it,"  answered  Ferranti. 
"  But  here  it  is,  shorter  than  the  prelude.  Well, 
it  was  a  new  composition,  and  evidently  exer 
cised  a  depressing  effect  upon  musicians  as  well 
as  upon  dilettanti  and  tyros  who  were  present. 
At  the  close  of  the  symphony  there  was  profound 
silence.  Von  Biilow,  waiting  for  the  applause  that 
did  not  come,  calmly  surveyed  the  audience.  '  Ev- 


74  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

ideutly  the  audience  does  not  understand  the  sym 
phony,'  he  said  in  a  loud  tone.  '  We  will  play 
it  over  again.'  And  the  orchestra  played  it  over 
again.  After  which  there  was  no  lack  of  ap 
plause." 

"  That  is  very  like  him,  according  to  all  ac 
counts,"  said  Mr.  McChesney. 

"  He  has  to  father  a  good  many  eccentricities 
that  he  has  no  kinship  with,"  Ferranti  said.  "  He 
happens  to  be  a  convenient  peg  on  which  to  hang 
the  odds  and  ends  of  musical  gossip.  He  is  in  real 
ity  one  of  the  most  delightful,  well-bred,  and  gen 
erous  men  in  the  world ;  but  he  has  a  high  concep 
tion  of  his  own  dignity  and  the  dignity  of  his  pro 
fession." 

"  Do  you  believe"  Kalinski  asked,  suddenly  ris 
ing  and  assuming  a  somewhat  theatrical  attitude 
which  seemed  the  studied  climax  of  some  train  of 
thought,  "  that  one  could  tell  a  story  by  a  musical 
instrument  so  clearly  that  a  musical  listener  could 
understand  the  story  without  the  addition  of 
words?" 

Ferranti  was  leaning  against  the  piano,  his 
arms  folded  and  his  head  bent  slightly  forward.  A 
quizzical  gleam  crossed  his  face  at  the  question. 

"No, indeed."  He  spoke  in  an  indulgent  tone. 
"  I  only  believe  that  the  general  atmosphere  of  a 
composition  is  comprehended  by  a  musical  mind. 
There  is  a  difference  between  imaginative  and  ro- 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  75 

mantic  music,  you  know.  Imaginative  music  of  the 
highest  grade  appeals  to  the  musical  mind  in  a 
language  incomprehensible  to  the  ordinary  listener ; 
it  deals  with  abstract  musical  thoughts.  Romantic 
music  represents  some  scene  or  event  that  has  place 
in  the  composer's  mind  and  around  which  he 
groups  his  musical  expressions.  The  andante 
from  the  fifth  symphony,  the  scherzo  from  the  sev 
enth  are  good  examples  of  the  former,  while  the 
pastoral  symphony  is  one  of  the  most  familiar  and 
satisfactory  examples  of  the  latter.  An  ordinary 
passionate  composition  of  the  romantic  school  cer 
tainly  requires  a  clew  to  be  given  to  its  meaning. 
The  music  to  one  listener  may  represent  a  real 
storm,  to  another,  a  quarrel  between  two  lovers  or  a 
tragedy  in  which  revenge  has  proved  the  key-note. 
Calm  moonlight  on  the  sea,  or  a  happy  maiden  rev 
erie  in  the  summer  wood,  or  the  quiet  of  accept 
ed  love,  may  all  be  given  in  the  same  musical  ex 
pressions.  The  listener's  mind  colors  the  musical 
impressions  which  it  receives.  The  significance,  I 
insist,  of  musical  phrases  is  comprehended  only 
by  musical  feeling  ;  they  can  not  be  presented  sat 
isfactorily  to  another's  mind  by  material  images, 
although  it  be  desirable  for  the  composer  to  so  pre 
sent  them  in  order  to  point  to  the  ordinary  listener 
the  direction  in  which  his  thoughts  are  to  be 
turned.  Even  with  direction  the  thoughts  of  the 
listener  are  very  apt  to  cluster  around  material  im- 


76  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

ages  very  different  from  those  that  sprang  up  in 
the  composer's  mind  as  he  wrote.  The  listener's 
images  are  in  harmony  with  the  general  tenor  of 
his  thoughts  and  the  general  habits  of  his  life." 

"  Then,  of  course,  you  do  not  believe  that  there 
is  any  such  thing  as  music,  sensuous  per  se  ?  "  in 
terpolated  Mr.  McChesney. 

"  Of  course  not.  A  soft,  grave  hymn,  or  a  light 
scherzo  expressive  of  pure  and  happy  childlife, 
may  become,  if  used  in  vulgar  surroundings,  a  me 
dium  to  a  vulgar  mind  of  impure  thoughts ;  but 
the  music  itself  remains  pure,  and  can  not  be  de 
graded  by  a  beer-saloon  or  a  Jardin  Mabille." 

"  Now,"  said  Kalinski,  "  I  have  a  story  to  tell 
upon  the  violin.  As  you  think  it  could  not  be 
understood  without  explanation,  I  will  accompany 
the  music  with  appropriate  words.  This  will  afford 
you  all  a  novel  and  instructive  entertainment." 

Philip  laughed  under  his  breath  and  glanced 
at  Ferranti.  "  Aha,"  said  he  aloud,  "  a  musical 
drama  in — how  many  acts  ?  Something,  perhaps, 
on  the  principle  of  the  early  art  forms  which  pre 
ceded  the  oratorio  and  the  opera — a  sort  of  cantata 
with  a  slight  accompaniment — an  aria  recitative 
Avith  a  figured  bass  on  the  violin." 

Kalinski  looked  at  him  unseeingly,  and  began  at 
once  his  peculiar  performance.  He  had  some  facil 
ity  of  description,  and  the  words  tripped  smooth 
ly  from  his  tongue  as  soon  as  he  began  his  story. 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  77 

Before  each  scene  he  gave  a  musical  overture  which 
included  the  principal  events  and  emotions,  and, 
in  addition,  whenever  a  character  appeared  for  the 
first  time  he  would  give  a  characteristic  musical 
portrait  of  the  mental  qualities.  His  evident  in 
tent  to  be  taken  seriously  compelled  his  auditors 
to  stifle  all  tendency  to  amusement,  and  to  listen 
with  some  degree  of  courtesy.  Moreover,  they 
were  all  musicians  in  spirit  if  not  in  fact,  and  Ka- 
linski,  always  more  or  less  dramatic,  now  showed 
in  his  playing  fire  and  force  which  commended 
him  to  their  favor. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


KALINSKI8   STORY. 

IT  is  a  festa  day  in  the  month  of  May  at  Rome. 
The  odorous  acacia  blossoms,  the  golden  gorse,  the 
wild  sweet-pea,  and  a  host  of  dainty  creeping  vines 
and  flowering  weeds  clamber  along  the  hedges  out 
side  the  city,  and  millions  of  scarlet  poppies  blaze 
amid  the  swaying  grain  upon  the  broad  Campagna. 
The  goat-herd  comes  down  from  the  mountain ; 
the  peasant,  the  monk,  the  soldier  jostle  each  other 
on  the  crowded  streets ;  the  women  sing  and  laugh 
from  their  open  windows,  or  chatter  in  musical 
voices  under  the  gray-stone  walls  crowned  with  red 
blossoms  of  the  spicy  oleander.  As  the  warm  sun 
sinks  slowly  westward  in  a  sea  of  fire,  the  sounds 
of  guitars  and  violins  fall  upon  the  ear,  the  scent 
of  orange  blossoms  fills  the  air,  and  welcome  to  the 
taste  is  the  sherbet  or  lemonade  from  the  canvas- 
covered  booths  on  every  plaza.  Shrines  are  erected 
at  the  corners  of  the  streets  ;  and  beneath  one  of 
these  crude  pictures  of  the  Madonna  before  which 
burns  constantly  a  little  light,  kneels  a  young  peas- 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  79 

ant  girl  saying  her  rosary  wi  th  pious  care.  A  young 
Italian,  well-dressed,  handsome,  and  evidently  of 
noble  birth,  watches  her  attentively.  At  Ave 
Maria,  when  dove-like  twilight  broods  over  the 
city  and  the  open  fields,  a  great  procession  takes 
place — the  chanting  priests  circle  through  the 
plaza,  church-banners  float  above  their  heads, 
the  crowd  bends  before  the  ostia.  When  it  disap 
pears,  and  the  people  gather  before  the  church  to 
look  at  the  tapestried  platform  and  to  listen  to 
the  music  of  the  band,  the  young  cavalier  may 
be  seen  talking  and  jesting  with  the  peasant  girl. 
Dressed  now  himself  as  a  peasant,  he  wears  white 
stockings,  a  tall  hat  with  rosettes,  and  a  loose  black 
velvet  jacket.  The  girl  is  dressed  like  others  of 
her  class  and  province,  in  a  light  bodice  and  a 
silken  skirt,  and  above  her  white  chemise  a  coral 
necklace  rests  upon  her  full  brown  neck  and  bosom. 
From  her  ears  hang  heavy  ear-rings  of  gold,  and 
her  thick  black  braids  are  looped  up  neatly  around 
her  handsome  head.  They  are  very  gay,  these 
young  people ;  and  the  bells  ring  and  the  organ 
peals,  and  flowers  and  crucifixes  and  banners  are 
everywhere  along  the  streets.  Why  should  they 
not  be  gay  ?  It  is  May,  and  May  is  the  time  for 
love.  By  and  by  the  young  signer  and  Anita  (for 
that  is  her  name)  slip  away  from  the  old  peasant 
woman  with  whom  Anita  has  come  down  from  the 
mountains,  and  join  a  merry  group  on  the  edge  of 


80  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

the  crowd  where  sounds  the  sharp  click  of  the  casta 
nets  and  the  dull  thrum  of  the  tambourines.  Who 
can  dance  the  saltarello  like  this  rosy-cheeked, 
luminous-eyed  Anita,  flashing  her  dark  eyes  be- 
witchingly  and  throwing  her  lithe,  elastic  form 
into  a  thousand  graceful,  changing  curves,  unless 
it  be  the  young  signor,  circling  around  her  with 
quick,  short  steps,  clapping  his  hands,  and  begging 
for  the  kiss  which  she  will  refuse  again  and  again 
only  to  yield  in  pantomime  at  last.  If  it  were 
only  always  in  pantomime  ! 


they  are  among  the  green  forests  that 
wind  around  the  Alban  Lake.  They  are  on  the 
way  to  that  summit  where  once  stood  the  temple 
of  Jupiter  Latialis,  and  where  now  stands  the  con 
vent  of  Monte  Cavi.  From  here  they  will  look 
down  on  the  Koman  Campagna,  its  fields  of  plumy 
grasses  and  parti-colored  flowers  waving  in  rhyth 
mic  motion  to  the  wind-harps  of  the  golden- 
trunked  pines;  its  ilex  trees  and  luxuriant  vines 
covering  the  jagged  angles  of  broken  bridges, 
tombs,  and  aqueducts;  and  its  brown  banks  re 
minding  you  of  the  catacombs  that  underlie  this 
brilliant  stretch  of  color  —  more  brilliant  under 
the  purple  and  gold  of  sunset  that  rests  along  the 
far  horizon  line.  But  Anita  and  her  cavalier 
think  not  of  the  light  and  nature-life  around 
them,  nor  of  the  generations  of  dead  that  lie  be- 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  gl 

neath  them.  They  see  only  the  love-light  in  each 
other's  eyes.  Presently,  when  the  moon  shines 
full  and  clear  in  the  heavens,  they  are  at  a  rustic 
dance  in  an  old  castle.  Nightingales  sing  in  the 
ilex  groves,  and  laurels  shadow  the  narrow  paths 
Avhere  they  can  wander  when  heated  with  the 
dance.  Nobles  and  peasants  dance  freely  together 
on  the  brick  floor  of  the  great  half-ruined  hall. 
Of  all  the  contadini  who  is  so  charming  as  Anita, 
the  Albanian  maiden  !  And  who  so  worthy  of  her 
glances  as  the  peasant  noble  who  whispers  in  her  ear 
the  sweet  nothings  that  spring  from  a  lover's  heart ! 

One  evening,  at  a  villetta  on  the  mountain-side, 
an  old  woman  wrings  her  hands  as  she  sits  alone 
among  the  vines  and  vegetables  of  her  little  gar 
den.  Under  the  arbor,  upon  which  the  warm 
autumn  sun  has  shone  all  day  with  quiet  force, 
she  sits  and  moans,  while  the  tears  run  down  her 
withered  cheeks.  The  vintage  festival  has  come 
and  gone.  Gone  are  the  laughing  peasants,  strong 
of  back  and  sturdy  of  limb,  their  heads  and  faces 
stained  with  the  purple  grape  ;  gone  are  the  bas 
ket-wagons  and  the  oxen  decked  with  vines  and 
bright-hued  ribbons ;  gone  is  the  handsome  Bac 
chus  who,  crowned  with  ivy  and  bearing  a  sheep 
skin  over  his  shoulder,  headed  the  vintage  proces 
sion  ;  gone,  too,  is  the  fairest  of  the  maidens  who 
followed,  with  a  basket  of  grapes  upon  her  stately 


82  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

head  and  a  vine-wreath  around  her  neck  brown- 
tinted  by  the  mellowing  sun.  Gone  are  they  all. 
Everything  is  still.  Even  the  goats  browse  no 
longer  on  the  juicy  herbs  covering  the  fertile 
hills.  Only  the  full  moon  looks  quietly  down 
upon  the  gray-green  olives  nestling  upon  the  um- 
ber-hued  hills,  and  touches  with  an  added  gleam 
of  silver  the  gray  hair  of  the  lonely  mother  wring 
ing  her  hands  in  grief.  On  the  seat  beside  her 
lies  a  letter  which  was  read  to  her  at  sunset  by 
the  parish  priest.  At  one  moment  she  snatches 
it  up  and  kisses  it  with  a  pitiful  cry,  and  the  next, 
she  flings  it  from  her  with  a  gesture  of  contempt. 
She  can  not  follow  Anita ;  she  is  poor ;  since  her 
husband's  death  she  has  toiled  daily  with  her 
hands  to  keep  a  home  for  the  bright-eyed,  laugh 
ing  girl  who  is  now  so  far  away.  She  bows  her 
head  in  despair  as  she  feels  the  numbness  of  com 
ing  desolation  creep  slowly  through  her  heart. 
She  grows  more  quiet  while  the  night  hours  wear 
away ;  she  does  not  feel  the  chill  night  dews  that 
fall  upon  her,  nor  the  chill  night  wind  that  tosses 
her  gray  hair.  The  morning  sun  at  last  peers  un 
der  the  grape-hung  trellis,  but  he  is  powerless  to 
warm  the  cold  body  stretched  out  upon  the  narrow 
seat,  the  withered  face  upturned  as  if  imploring 
pity  from  the  bending  sky.  The  mother-heart 
has  broken ;  the  toil-worn  body  is  at  rest. 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  83 

On  the  corner  of  a  semi-respectable  street  in 
Paris  stands  one  of  those  damp  and  dingy  struct 
ures  in  which  decayed  gentility  finds  a  squalid 
refuge.  Here,  in  an  ill-ventilated,  cheaply  fur 
nished  room,  is  immured  the  charming  peasant 
taken  from  the  free  air  of  the  Roman  hills.  A 
year  goes  by  on  swift  and  rosy  wings.  Another 
year ;  but  its  wings  are  leaden,  and  it  flings  a 
shadow  over  the  brightness  of  Anita's  face.  He 
neglects  her  now,  this  lover  who  could  not  live 
without  her.  Long  hours  she  is  left  alone,  to 
watch  the  tall,  straight  walls  that  front  the  small- 
paned  windows,  or  to  count  the  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  on  the  figured  paper  of  her  room — 
happy  youths  and  maidens  who  recall  her  own 
lost  happiness  and  intensify  by  their  unending 
joy  the  fleeting  nature  of  her  own.  She  has  no 
power  to  amuse  herself  in  this  frothy  world  of 
gayety  revolving  about  her  in  the  distance. 
She  has  a  tender,  loving  heart,  poor  weak  Anita. 
Evening  after  evening  she  weeps  her  bitter  tears 
and  eats  the  ashes  of  her  hopes;  evening  after 
evening  she  sees  him  for  a  moment  in  his  well- 
fitting  evening  dress  and  dainty  gloves,  and  then 
she  watches  him  roll  away  in  a  well-appointed 
dark-green  cabriolet  to  the  salons  where  she 
may  never  go.  The  coachman  smacks  his  whip ; 
the  young  Italian  nods ;  houp  la !  what  matters  a 
heavy  heart  or  two  when  Pleasure's  finger  beck- 


84  THE   DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

ons  ?  The  world  wags  right  merrily  for  those  who 
know  how  to  take  it.  One  day  there  is  a  violent 
scene.  Hot  words  pass.  Anita  learns  too  late 
that  she  is  as  free  to  go  as  she  was  free  to  follow- 
nay,  a  thousand  times  more  free,  for  she  followed 
by  the  constraining  power  of  love.  She  learns  too 
late  that  to  put  faith  in  a  lover's  word  is  to  put 
faith  in  a  brittle  sword.  That  night  she  flies. 
She  will  never  return.  And  the  young  Italian 
goes  gayly  on  his  way,  happy  in  his  recovered 
freedom,  serenely  conscious  that  she  has  left  him 
of  her  own  accord.  He  is  not  rich ;  now  he  will 
retrieve  his  fortunes.  And  Anita  ?  Pouf !  He 
takes  his  cigarette  from  his  mouth :  pouf !  a  blue 
ring  of  smoke  disappears. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Kalinski  had  reached  this  point  in  his 
story  he  stood  nearly  opposite  Flora  and  her 
mother.  He  laid  his  violin  bow  on  an  adjacent 
stand,  and  then,  with  a  dramatic  gesture,  he  drew 
from  the  inner  breast-pocket  of  his  coat  two  pho 
tographs.  "  Here,"  said  he,  "  is  the  girl  whose 
story  I  have  told.  In  this  see  her  beauty,  her 
grace,  her  innocence ;  in  that  see  her  as  she  looks 
out  from  the  barred  windows  of  an  asylum  and 
calls  in  vain  for  the  lover  who  does  not  come." 

Mrs.  McChesney  took  the  photographs,  holding 
them  so  that  the  upper  picture  hid  the  lower. 
Flora  leaned  over  the  arm  of  the  chair  to  look  at 
them.  "  AVhat  a  lovely  face,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I 
never  saw  a  more  perfect  oval ;  and  those  large 
dark  eyes,  so  Madonna-like  and  mournful.  Could 
any  man  destroy  the  happiness  of  such  a  woman  ? 
See,  mother,  on  her  neck  she  wears  a  cross  at 
tached  to  a  small  chain;  and  that  square  head 
dress  makes  her  look  like  one  of  the  sisters  at  St. 
Mary's.  Oh,  the  story  is  too  cruel !  It  can  not  be 
true ! " 


86  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

"  I  hardly  understand  your  idea,  Mr.  Kalin- 
ski,"  said  Mrs.  McChesney,  "  in  telling  us  a  story 
of  this  kind.  Could  you  not  have  selected  some 
thing  more  suitable  to  entertain  us  with  ?  "  She 
elevated  her  eybrows  rather  haughtily  and  sur 
veyed  him  coldly. 

"  But  let  me  see  the  other  picture,"  interrupted 
Flora.  She  took  it  from  her  mother,  gave  it  one 
eager  glance,  and  dropped  it  as  though  it  burned 
her  fingers.  "  It  is  the  same  face ;  I  have  seen  it 
twice  before,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  choked  voice 
through  which  vibrated  a  tone  of  horror.  She 
shuddered  and  covered  her  face  with  both  hands. 

"  Bien,  madame ;  you  see  my  idea? "  Kalinski 
addressed  Mrs.  McChesney  with  a  triumphant 
smile.  "And  there,"  he  continued,  wheeling 
around  so  as  to  face  Ferranti,  "  there  is  the  man 
who  loved  this  girl,  who  deserted  her,  who  ruined 
her  happiness." 

Ferranti  still  stood  motionless,  leaning  against 
the  piano  ;  still  kept  his  arms  tightly  folded.  He 
straightened  himself  now  and  came  fonvard,  his 
face  pale,  his  head  thrown  back,  and  his  arms 
still  more  tightly  clasped,  as  if  to  confine  the 
words  that  struggled  for  utterance.  His  throat 
swelled,  and  his  eyes  flashed  beneath  his  dark  and 
knitted  brows  as  smoldering  sparks  flash  beneath 
charred  embers. 

He  spoke  directly  to   Kalinski,  in  slow  and 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  87 

careful,  measured  tones :  "  Your  story  is  highly 
interesting.  Permit  me,  though,  to  correct  it  in 
one  important  respect.  This  woman  whose  pict 
ure  you  have  obtained  was,  and  is,  my  lawful 
wife.  The  marriage  certificate  and  various  con 
vincing  letters  are  in  my  possession,  and  can  be 
shown  any  moment  in  proof  of  what  I  say.  I 
have,  moreover — a  fact  of  which  you  have  carefully 
neglected  to  inform  yourself — a  son  about  six 
years  of  age,  who  is  now  with  my  mother  in  Italy. 
I  am  supporting  both  my  mother  and  my  son  to 
the  best  of  my  ability,  as  well  as  my  wife,  who 
receives  the  best  care  and  attention  that  can  be 
found  for  her  in  her  unfortunate  condition.  My 
marriage,  which  took  place  under  an  assumed 
name,  was  kept  secret  for  family  reasons,  and 
ought  still  to  be  kept  secret  for  some  time.  It 
will  not  be  long  before  the  reasons  for  secrecy 
will  have  ceased  to  exist,  and  I  shall  then  be  able 
•to  publicly  acknowledge  my  son.  This  explana 
tion  is  made,"  he  continued  scornfully,  "  not  by 
any  means  on  your  account,  but  out  of  respect  to 
the  family  who  have  received  me  with  a  courtesy 
and  hospitality  which  I  can  never  forget."  After 
a  moment's  pause,  he  added :  "  There  are  a  good 
many  minor  mistakes,  too,  in  the  story  which  you 
have  maliciously  constructed  upon  a  slight  founda 
tion.  But  to  correct  them  involves  my  revealing 
private  sorrows  and  details  of  the  private  life  of 


83  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

others,  and  I  do  not  feel  justified  in  doing  this. 
The  cause  of  my  unfortunate  wife's  insanity  is 
evidently  quite  unknown  to  you.  How  you  have 
gained  this  knowledge,  this  slight  basis  upon 
which  you  have  reared  a  flimsy  structure  of  ab 
surdities,  is  quite  beyond  my  comprehension.  Per 
haps  you  will  kindly  inform  me;  and  perhaps, 
also,  you  will  give  me  my  right  name,  which  is 
not  yet  known  to  the  people  of  Medalhurst."  He 
shot  a  piercing  glance  at  Kalinski  with  these 
words,  a  glance  which  Kalinski  refused  to  meet. 
Indeed,  he  seemed  greatly  taken  aback  at  this 
straightforward  challenge,  and  lost  countenance 
immediately.  His  expression  of  triumph  faded 
to  one  of  doubt.  After  some  hesitation,  during 
which  there  was  an  embarrassing  silence,  Kalinski 
drew  from  the  same  pocket  of  his  coat  which  had 
held  the  two  photographs  a  few  loose  sheets  of 
paper,  dangling  irregularly  from  a  thread  which 
caught  them  together. 

"  Ah,"  said  Ferranti  impassively,  "  so  Mr. 
Emil  Kalinski  conspires  with  servants ;  he  lights 
his  rockets  at  the  kitchen  fire  and  turns  the  poker 
for  divining  rod." 

"  It  is  not  so,"  Kalinski  answered  sharply,  red 
dening  at  the  same  time.  "  The  papers,  I  found  them 
in  the  barrel — the  barrel  of  ashes,  of  debris  outside 
the  house ;  the  wind  blew  them,  I  gave  them  some 
blows  of  my  foot,  I  picked  them  up — voila  tout !  " 


THE   DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  89 

"  I  remember  them — some  loose  leaves  of  an 
old  diary.  And  soon  after  you  came  to  spend  the 
evening  with  me.  On  a  tour  of  inspection?  And 
the  photographs  ?  "  Ferranti  still  maintained  his 
tone  of  stinging  courtesy;  but  he  had  fastened 
his  compelling  eyes  sternly  upon  Kalinski. 

"  I — I — borrowed  them,"  muttered  the  crest 
fallen  man,  constrained  to  answer  against  his  will. 
The  ludicrous  lameness  of  this  answer  could  not 
but  bring  a  smile  to  the  lips  of  Philip  and  his 
father.  So  nearly  do  pathos  and  bathos  touch  in 
moments  of  supreme  excitement.  Every  one  re 
mained  silent  for  some  little  time.  Mrs.  McChes- 
ney  held  the  first  picture  of  the  Italian  girl,  and 
contemplated  it  reflectively ;  Flora  kept  her  face 
buried  in  her  hands ;  Mr.  McChesney  and  Philip 
evidently  considered  silence  the  better  part  of  dis 
cretion,  the  former  occupying  himself  by  stroking 
his  mustache  with  the  spread-out  thumb  and  fin 
gers  of  his  left  hand,  the  latter  twisting  his  legs 
in  a  bow-knot  under  an  inoffensive  chair  which 
he  was  rapidly  despoiling  of  its  ornamental  fringe ; 
Karl  Klinder  took  off  his  spectacles  and  proceeded 
to  give  them  an  efficient  but  needless  polishing 
with  his  red  silk  handkerchief. 

The  tables,  for  a  few  moments  at  least,  had 
been  unexpectedly  turned.  Marvelous  self-con 
trol,  enabled  Ferranti  to  stand  before  the  little 
group  rather  in  the  attitude  of  a  judge  before  a 


90  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

group  of  criminals  than  that  of  a  prisoner  before 
a  jury.  The  nervous  tension  of  the  moment  was 
relieved  by  his  stooping  to  pick  up  the  photo 
graph  that  Flora  had  dropped  upon  the  floor. 
He  asked  for  the  one  held  by  Mrs.  McChesney, 
placed  them  both  together,  and  slipped  them  under 
the  orange  silk  cover  that  protected  his  violin. 
This  commonplace  movement  and  the  composure 
with  which  he  locked  the  case,  turning  the  key 
in  the  lock  with  a  vigorous  snap,  brought  them 
back  to  a  sense  of  every-day  life.  Mr.  McChes 
ney  rose  and  made  a  forward  movement  as  if  to 
address  Ferranti.  Kalinski  anticipated  him. 

"  And  the  face  that  appeared  to  Miss  Flora  ? 
How  does  Signor  Ferranti  explain  it !  " 

"  Be  careful,  sir,"  said  Mr.  McChesney,  sud 
denly  and  explosively,  "  this  matter  has  gone  far 
enough !  No  further  comments  are  necessary. 
Both  you  and  Signor  Ferranti  are  guests  in  my 
house ;  do  not  you,  sir,  compel  me  to  forget  my 
present  duty  as  your  host." 

"Allow  me  to  bid  you  good  evening,"  said 
Ferranti  to  Mrs.  McChesney,  who  slightly  bowed 
in  return.  "  Adieu,  signorina,"  to  Flora,  who  had 
not  taken  her  hands  from  her  face.  His  voice 
was  not  so  firm  as  he  uttered  these  two  words. 
Bowing  then  to  the  men  in  the  room  collectively, 
he  pushed  aside  the  velvet  portiere,  against  which 
his  pale,  aquiline  features  and  black  hair  and  aris- 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  91 

tocratic  figure  stood  out  in  high  relief.  At  this 
moment  Flora  suddenly  rose  and  swept  across 
the  room,  her  long,  black  dress  folding  closely 
around  her  and  giving  added  dignity  to  her  slender 
form,  drawn  now  to  its  full  height. 

"  Signor  Ferranti,"  said  she  earnestly,  offering 
him  her  hand,  "  I  believe  your  explanation ;  I 
believe  your  actions  have  been  those -of  an  honor 
able  man.  You  have  my  sympathy  for  your  pres 
ent  sorrow  and  my  earnest  hopes  for  your  success 
and  future  happiness." 

Ferranti  dropped  the  curtain,  and  an  expres 
sion  of  acute  anguish  crossed  his  face.  He  bent 
forward  to  gravely  imprint  a  kiss  upon  her  ex 
tended  hand. 

Flora  stood  still  as  he  left  the  room.  The 
cold,  tremulous  lips  and  the  clammy  fingers  that 
had  touched  her  own  revealed  the  strain  through 
which  the  strong,  sensitive  nature  had  passed.  She 
felt  instinctively  that  a  farewell  had  been  spoken, 
that  through  this  farewell  had  breathed  resigna 
tion  to  those  higher  spiritual  laws  which  forbid 
revenge  or  hatred  or  malice  of  a  mortal  toward 
even  the  meanest  of  God's  creatures ;  and  through 
this  farewell  had  also  breathed  the  tenderness  and 
pride  that  would  in  future  hold  him  far  away 
from  the  woman  whom  he  loved. 

The  voice  of  Mr.  McChesney  roused  Flora 
from  her  sad  reflections.  "  My  daughter,"  said  he, 


92  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

"  are  you  not  over-impulsive  ?  We  really  do  not 
know,  excepting  from  SignorFerranti's  own  words, 
that  he  is  not  masquerading  in  borrowed  plumage. 
We  know  he  is  an  agreeable  man,  but  it  seems  to 
me  we  ought  to  withhold  our  judgment  for  the 
present." 

"  Father,  your  common  sense  is  struggling  hard 
to  gain  the  victory  over  feeling ;  but  you  know  as 
well  as  I  that  his  words  and  manner  bear  the 
stamp  of  truth." 

Mr.  McChesney  shook  his  head  deprecatingly, 
although  he  had  been  more  impressed  than  lie 
cared  to  acknowledge  by  Ferranti's  quiet  dignity. 

"As  for  you,"  continued  Flora  scornfully, 
turning  to  Kalinski, "  you  have  maliciously  dragged 
to  light  the  misfortunes  of  an  artist  and  of  a  man 
whose  shoe-latchets  you  are  not  worthy  to  unloose. 
You  need  not  expect  from  me  the  forbearance 
with  which  you  have  been  treated  by  my  father 
and  mother." 

Kalinski's  face  grew  dark,  and  he  muttered,  in 
a  sort  of  currish  snarl,  "  He  is  a  coward,  this 
Signor  Ferranti." 

"  Coward,  do  you  say  ?  "  replied  Flora.  "  He 
is  brave  and  manly  enough  to  bear  an  imputation 
of  cowardice  from  you,  out  of  respect  to  us.  And 
you  well  know  his  simple,  straightforward  state 
ment  is  true  in  every  particular." 

"  Flora,  your  defense  of  Signor  Ferranti  is  very 


TEE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.         93 

uncalled  for,"  said  Mrs.  McChesney,  speaking  in  a 
higher  key  than  usual  and  gathering  up  her 
worsted  work  preparatory  to  leaving  the  room. 
"  Whatever  he  may  be  as  an  artist,  he  is,  accord 
ing  to  his  own  statement,  under  a  serious  cloud, 
and  certainly  he  is  married  and  he  is  obliged  to 
conceal  the  fact.  I  don't"  like  all  this  deception, 
and  I  prefer  that  Signor  Ferranti  should  not  enter 
my  house  again."  And  Mrs.  McChesney  adjusted 
her  fleecy  shawl  about  her  shoulders  and  shook 
down  the  folds  of  her  drapery,  very  much  as  a 
motherly  hen,  foreseeing  danger  to  her  callow 
brood,  ruffles  her  feathers  with  an  aggressive  air 
and  gives  vent  to  her  anxiety  by  staccato  clucks 
and  cackles. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  McChesney, 
with  a  suspicion  of  a  smile. 

"  Well,  you  never  think  my  judgment  is  worth 
anything,  but  I  tell  you  there  may  lie  more  danger 
than  you  think  in  his  future  visits." 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken,  Josephine."  Mr. 
McChesney  rarely  called  his  wife  by  the  stately 
name  which  seemed  inappropriate  to  her  rotund 
figure  and  amiable  face ;  whenever  he  did  so,  it 
indicated  a  subtle  rebuke.  "  This  is  really  a  prof 
itless  subject  of  discussion,"  he  added,  giving  time 
for  the  "  Josephine  "  to  work  in  her  mind. 

"  I  am  sure  /  am  perfectly  willing  to  drop  the 
matter,"  said  Mrs.  McChesney  in  an  aggrieved 


94  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

tone ;  "  but  Signer  Ferranti  shall  not  come  here 
if  my  wishes  are  to  be  consulted." 

"  I  don't  see,  mother,  that  his  music  is  any 
the  worse  for  his  being  unfortunately  married," 
said  Philip ;  "  and,  if  his  explanation  is  true,  I  can 
not  see  any  just  ground  for  withholding  our  hos 
pitality.  But  we  should  all  consider  it  wrong  to 
make  you  uncomfortable.  We  can  stand  his  ab 
sence  much  better  than  we  can  your  displeasure." 

"  Well,  it  is  hard  to  know  what  to  say  or 
think,"  Mrs.  McChesney  responded  in  a  mollified 
tone,  evidently  due  to  this  deft  tribute  to  her  au 
thority. 

"  You  are  all  troubling  yourselves  unnecessa 
rily.  Signor  Ferranti  will  not  be  here  again," 
broke  in  Flora  brusquely  and  harshly  as  she  left 
the  room. 


CHAPTER  X. 

FLORA'S  prediction  proved  true.  Before  the 
evening  of  the  next  weekly  rehearsal  of  the  quar 
tet  Mr.  McChesney  received  the  following  note  : 

"  MY  DEAR  Mr.  MCCHESNEY  :  I  am  suffering 
from  a  severe  attack  of  congestion  of  the  lungs. 
I  would  like  to  see  you,  and  I  therefore  ask  you 
as  a  favor  to  kindly  call  at  my  boarding-house  as 
soon  as  convenient. 

"  Very  sincerely,  yours, 

"  GIULIO  FERRANTI. 

"  No.  9  WOODLAND  AVENUE." 

Mr.  McChesney  wasted  no  time  in  obeying 
this  summons.  The  same  afternoon  on  which  he 
had  received  the  note  he  mounted  the  shabby  steps 
and  stood  on  the  narrow  stoop  of  one  of  those 
high,  ungainly,  dry  -  goods  -  box  structures  that 
money-making  butchers  and  keepers  of  beer-sa 
loons  are  wont  to  put  up  in  country  towns.  These 
structures  may  smother  the  sense  of  the  beautiful 
in  form  among  the  middle  classes,  but  that  will 


96  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

not  disturb  the  miud  of  the  owner.  Verily,  no ; 
so  that  he  could  get  one  per  cent  more  for  his 
investment  he  would  willingly,  gladly,  sweep  all 
budding  Raphaels,  Murillos,  and  Da  Vincis  from 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  The  suburban  town  is 
unluckily  a  haven  of  refuge  for  the  inartistic, 
cheap-John  landlord  who  plants  his  foot  against 
the  wheel  of  progress.  He  is  not  in  good  odor  in 
the  larger  cities,  for  their  architects  and  builders 
recognize  well  the  facts  that  beauty  is  not  incom 
patible  with  economy,  and  that  a  Queen  Anne  front 
or  a  Gothic  window  will  cover  a  multitude  of 
deficiencies  to  the  house-hunter  of  aesthetic  mind. 
Mr.  McChesney  gave  a  shudder  as  he  looked  up 
at  the  straight  fagade,  unrelieved  by  a  single  win 
dow-cap  or  tasteful  projection.  The  warm  sun 
brought  out  severely  the  smudgy  drawings  left  by 
the  wet  -  fingered  storm,  and  the  faded  pinkish 
streaks  upon  the  red  window  shades  which  diversi 
fied  the  sickly  yellow  of  the  long-since  painted 
front.  A  dingy  maid-servant,  with  open  mouth 
and  a  wisp  of  hair  drooping  at  right  angles  toward 
her  shoulder,  came  to  the  door  and  declared  that 
the  "  third-floor  back "  could  see  no  one,  "  not 
even  his  own  mother  —  he  was  that  sick."  Mr. 
McChesney  insisted  on  sending  up  his  card.  She 
reluctantly  mounted  the  stairs,  at  the  head  of 
which  she  soon  appeared  again  with  the  statement, 
"  He  says  you  kin  git  up,"  delivered  in  a  subdued, 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  97 

confidential  whisper,  accompanied  by  a  series  of 
patronizing  nods. 

Mr.  McChesney  made  his  way  around  the 
sharp  corners  of  one  of  those  dark  narrow  hall 
ways  which  economically  utilize  every  inch  of 
room  at  the  expense  of  light  and  cheerfulness  and 
comfort,  and,  after  a  temporary  difficulty  with 
two  belligerent  steps,  invisible  in  the  semi-dark 
ness,  he  reached  Ferranti's  room.  The  signor 
was  lying  upon  a  lounge  in  front  of  a  small  open 
grate  in  which  feebly  burned  a  few  knotty  sticks 
of  wood ;  he  made  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  sit  up 
as  Mr.  McChesney  entered. 

"  Do  not  rise,  I  beg  of  you,"  said  the  latter 
hastily ;  "  it  is  not  at  all  necessary.  I  am  sorry  to 
see  you  looking  so  ill,"  he  continued,  holding  Fer 
ranti's  hand  and  noting  the  thin,  flushed  face  and 
heavy  eyes.  "  How  did  you  happen  to  come  down 
so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  Some  carelessness  during  these  damp,  chill 
evenings,  I  suppose,"  answered  Ferranti.  "  The 
ubiquitous  ego  doesn't  always  assert  itself  at 
the  right  time.  I  don't  know,  though,  that  I 
should  say  the  ego  when  we  all  of  us  seem  to 
have  two,  one  occupied  with  abstract  questions  and 
the  other  with  material  matters.  Sometimes  one 
dominates  us  and  sometimes  the  other.  The  sen 
sible  man  seems  to  be  the  one  who  compels  his 
two  egos  to  live  in  peace  and  harmony,  who 
7 


98  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

doesn't  allow  either  one  to  gain  supremacy  above 
the  other." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  excepting  the  lall 
of  us,' "  Mr.  McChesney  replied.  "  Two  thirds 
of  us,  poor  mortals  that  we  are,  can  only  claim  the 
Philistine  ego.  We  are  like  the  well-fed  citizen 
of  Goslar  who  tells  Heine  that  trees  are  green  be 
cause  green  is  good  for  the  eyes.  And  if  some 
sympathetic  Heine  agrees  with  us  and  assures  us 
in  return  that  the  Lord  has  made  cattle  because 
beef  soup  strengthens  man,  and  that  jackasses 
are  created  for  the  purpose  of  serving  as  compari 
sons,  and  that  man  exists  so  that  he  may  eat  beef 
soup  and  realize  that  he  is  no  jackass — well,  then, 
we,  too,  are  sensibly  moved,  and  go  on  our  way 
rejoicing." 

Ferranti  smiled  and  said  : 
"  It  is  considerate  of  you  to  say  we." 
"  Yes,  yes,"  Mr.   McChesney  went  on  rather 
hastily.     "  The  trail  of  the  serpent  is  over  us  all 
to  a  greater  or  less 'degree.     It  takes  a  good  many 
small  atoms  to  make  a  perfect  being.     And,  after 
all,  this  lumpishness  of  the  beef-eater  serves  as  a 
good  balance-wheel  to  hold  erratic  pendulums  in 
place.     Still,  I  confess  my  weakness ;  I  can't  quite 
cure  myself  of  a  desire  to  kick  a  stupid  man." 

"  And  I  confess  that  I  have  sometimes  a  desire 
to  kick  myself,"  Ferranti  said. 

Mr.  McChesney  had  drawn  a  chair  to  the  side 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  99 

of  the  lounge,  and  with  a  sort  of  womanish  ten 
derness  he  now  adjusted  the  pillows  behind  Fer- 
ranti's  head  and  spread  the  afghan  smoothly  over 
him.  Presently  Ferranti  said  : 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  McChesney,  because 
I  feel  that  I  ought  to  prove  the  falsity  of  Kalinski's 
assertion.  I  owe  it  to  you,  and  in  fact  I  owe  it 
to  myself  to  do  so.  Here  is  the  key  to  the  closet 
over  there ;  and  if  I  may  trouble  you  to  bring  me 
the  two  caskets  you  will  find  there — " 

Mr.  McChesney  went  to  the  corner  of  the 
room,  and,  as  directed,  brought  to  Ferranti  two  cas 
kets,  one  of  sandal  wood  with  quaint  silver  clasps, 
and  the  other  of  ivory  curiously  inlaid  with 
mother-of-pearl  and  gold.  While  Ferranti  un 
locked  them  and  began  to  examine  the  papers 
which  he  took  from  the  casket  with  silver  bands, 
Mr.  McChesney  looked  around  the  room  with 
some  curiosity.  It  revealed  a  refined  taste  and 
the  habits  of  a  luxurious  past  battling  with  and 
baffling  the  commonness  of  poverty.  The  furni 
ture  was  cheap  and  ordinary ;  the  floor  was  cov 
ered  with  matting,  not  altogether  spotless  or  in 
good  repair,  but  it  was  partly  concealed  by  three 
tiger  -  skin  rugs ;  the  windows  were  hung  with 
soft  yellow  silken  draperies,  through  which  shone 
a  mellow  autumnal  light ;  over  a  shabby,  square 
deal  table  was  thrown  a  dark  velvet  cover,  elabo 
rately  embroidered ;  and  on  the  chintz  -  covered 


100  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

couch  was  spread  an  afghan  of  Persian  colors 
blended  as  harmoniously  as  the  leaves  of  one  of 
our  Northern  autumn  forests  in  late  October.  The 
spaces  each  side  the  shallow  chimney  had  been 
filled  with  pine  shelves;  and  on  one  side  stood 
the  works  of  the  great  composers  in  handsome 
dark  bindings,  while  on  the  other  appeared  vol 
umes  of  the  philosophers  and  poets  mingled  with 
psychological  works,  old  and  new.  Above  the 
mantel  a  dark  blue  cloth  had  been  stretched  to 
the  ceiling,  and  on  it  were  arranged  a  number  of 
swords,  rapiers,  daggers,  poniards,  stilettos,  to 
gether  with  an  Arabian  cimeter,  a  Scotch  clay 
more,  and  a  Mexican  bowie-knife.  A  handsome 
sword  with  damaskeened  blade  and  jeweled  han 
dle  drew  an  exclamation  of  interest  from  Mr. 
McChesney,  and  he  walked  across  the  room  to 
consider  it  more  closely. 

Ferranti  glanced  up  from  the  package  of  pa 
pers  he  was  examining,  now  and  then  pulling  out 
one  in  a  woman's  handwriting — 

"  That  sword,"  he  said,  "  belonged  to  my  fa 
ther.  He  was  a  great  traveler  in  his  day,  and 
made  quite  a  collection  of  weapons.  I  carry  a  few 
about  with  me,  more  to  remind  me  of  him  than 
from  any  special  interest  in  them." 

"  This  workmanship  is  extremely  fine,"  said 
Mr.  McChesney. 

"  Yes ;  the  sword  was  given  to  my  father  by 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  101 

the  Sultan  of  Turkey,  to  whom  he  rendered  some 
little  service.  It  has  more  artistic  than  murderous 
merit,  I  imagine,  though." 

"  I  wish  that  could  be  said  of  all  our  weapons 
of  warfare,"  Mr.  McChesney  quickly  remarked. 
"  What  an  absurdity  for  human  beings  to  kill  each 
other  instead  of  learning  to  adjust  their  difficulties 
by  moral  means  !  We  are  a  long  way  yet  from  civ 
ilization,  if  we  use  the  word  in  its  right  sense." 

"  I  shall  be  glad,"  said  Ferranti  grimly,  "  when 
the  underlying  spirit  of  Christian  law  really  gets 
to  the  surface.  So  far,  in  the  questions  that  come 
up  for  settlement  between  nations,  we  are  theoret 
ically  altruists,  but  practically  Zulus." 

As  Mr.  McChesney  sat  down  again  Ferranti 
laid  his  papers  by  his  side  and  unlocked  the  other 
casket.  It  proved  to  be  merely  an  outer  covering 
for  a  blue  velvet  jewel-case  enlaced  with  gold  fili 
gree.  From  this  he  took  a  folded  paper  which  he 
handed  to  Mr.  McChesney.  It  was  a  marriage 
certificate,  attesting  in  due  form  the  marriage  of 
Anita  Bartolomeo  to  Giulio  Ferranti  at  the  Church 
of  Santa  Maria  in  Via. 

Mr.  McChesney  handed  it  back  with  the 
words :  "  This  is  quite  unnecessary,  Signor  Fer 
ranti  ;  I  am  convinced  of  Kalinski's — mistake — to 
give  him  the  benefit  of  every  possible  doubt." 

"  But  it  is  as  well  to  make  assurance  doubly 
sure,"  said  the  signer  in  return,  smiling  sadly  and 


102       THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

replacing  the  paper  in  the  jewel  case,  from  which 
shone  a  sudden  glitter  cf  diamonds  as  the  lid  was 
raised  and  lowered.  "  These  letters,"  continued 
he,  "  were  written  by  my  mother,"  and  he  gave 
Mr.  McChesney  those  he  had  selected  from  the 
package.  "  Please  read  passages  indicated  by  pen 
cil  marks.  My  boy  is  tinder  the  care  of  a  nurse, 
and  lives  in  a  cottage  near  my  mother's  home. 
She  sees  him  nearly  every  day." 

The  first  passage  read  by  Mr.  McChesney  ran 
as  follows,  in  Italian  : 

"  I  saw  little  Luigi  this  morning.  He  grows 
finely  and  bids  fair  to  become  the  image  of  you 
when  you  were  a  boy.  Padre  Girolomo  declares 
he  will  be  a  poet,  he  is  so  intoxicated  with  delight 
at  the  roses  now  in  full  bloom.  He  will  lie  under 
the  big  rose  tree  that  fills  the  southeast  corner  of 
the  garden  wall  and  look  contentedly  at  the  blue 
sky  for  an  hour,  which  is  certainly  a  long  time  for 
a  boy  of  five  to  keep  still." 

Another  passage  was  :  "  Luigi  is  so  full  of  mis 
chief.  To-day  he  wound  the  kitten  up  in  a  sort 
of  harness  made  of  the  bright-colored  worsteds  he 
had  stolen  from  my  work-basket ;  and  yesterday 
he  insisted  upon  helping  old  Paolo  in  the  garden. 
He  dulled  the  best  hoe  against  the  stones,  and 
'  weeded  up,'  as  he  said,  a  bed  of  the  crisp  young 
lettuce  Paolo  is  preparing  for  market." 

Still  another  :  "  The  boy  has  little  recollection 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  103 

of  you,  and  none  at  all,  I  am  happy  to  say,  of  his 
unfortunate  mother.  Oh,  my  son,  when  I  think 
of  your  wrecked  happiness,  of  all  that  you  have 
endured  through  that  woman,  I  am  tempted  to 
forget  my  religion  and  rebel  at  the  injustice  of 
your  position." 

Other  passages,  which  in  spite  of  Mr.  McChes- 
ney's  remonstrances  he  was  compelled  to  read, 
spoke  of  "  Anita  "  as  "  no  better,"  as  "  more  quiet, 
so  the  doctors  tell  me,"  as  having  made,  "  since  I 
wrote  before,  a  violent  and  nearly  successful  at 
tempt  at  suicide  " ;  or, "  better,  with  one  quite  lucid 
interval  last  week,"  and  so  on,  with  many  details 
of  home  life,  and  everywhere  glimpses  of  the 
sympathy  and  tenderness  of  a  refined,  educated 
woman  for  her  absent  son.  Here  and  there  were 
references  to  money  sent  which  had  been  laid  out 
to  good  advantage  for  Anita's  comfort  or  Luigi's 
benefit,  or  to  keep  the  cottage  household  in  good 
order.  Mr.  McChesney  could  not  fail  to  be  touched 
by  these  letters,  and  by  the  spirit  which  prompted 
the  Italian  to  insist  upon  his  reading  them. 

"  I  need  not  say  that  your  confidence  in  me  is 
entirely  appreciated,"  remarked  Mr.  McChesney, 
Avhile  Ferranti  relocked  the  caskets. 

"  And  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  can  not  juct  now 
tell  you  my  reasons  for  remaining  silent  in  regard 
to  my  real  name  and  position.  It  will  only  be  a 
few  months,  I  believe,  before  I  can  write  to  you 


104:  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

all  that  I  feel  bound  to  conceal  now  ;  and,  while 
all  the  shadows  can  not  be  lifted  entirely  from  my 
past,  you  will  at  least  learn  that  I  have  not  been, 
and  am  not  now,  unworthy  of  your  hospitality  and 
your  friendship.  I  shall  probably  see  you  no  more, 
unless  you  come  to  bid  me  good-by,  for  I  have  de 
cided  to  accept  a  good  offer  to  travel  in  South 
America.  This  spring  dampness  is  having  a  bad 
effect  upon  my  lungs ;  and  as  others  are  dependent 
upon  me  I  recognize  the  necessity  of  taking  care  of 
my  health." 

"  But  you  will  take  dinner  with  us  once  more  ?  " 
Mr.  McChesney  asked,  rashly  forgetful  of  his  wife's 
last  positive  command  when  he  left  the  house. 

"  Pardon  me ;  I  think  not.  My  preparations 
will  take  some  little  time  and — well — the  past  has 
been  called  back  so  vividly  that  I  do  not  feel  equal 
to  saying  a  verbal  good-by  to  your  family.  My 
visits  to  your  house  have  been  sunny  breaks  in  the 
anxieties  which  beset  me,  but  it  is  better  now,  I 
think,  to  send  my  adieus  through  you." 

A  few  warm  words  of  regret  from  Mr.  McChes 
ney,  and  the  two  men  parted ;  one  to  resume  as 
usual  his  life  of  leisurely,  inoffensive  comfort,  the 
other  to  break  away  as  quickly  as  possible  from  an 
enthralling  love  which  was  gradually  undermining 
his  reasoning  powers  and  his  sense  of  honor.  Fer- 
ranti  knew  only  too  well  that  after  the  noble  dig 
nity  with  which  Flora  had  asserted  her  confidence 


THE  DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  1Q5 

in  him,  he  could  not  see  her  again  without  falling 
upon  his  knees  before  her  and  crying  out  his  need 
of  the  love  that  he  sometimes  wildly  whispered  to 
himself  belonged  to  him,  was  the  birthright  of 
which  he  had  been  cruelly  defrauded.  The  rever 
ence  of  a  child  for  the  Madonna ;  the  appreciation 
of  an  artist  for  an  artist ;  the  love  of  a  man  for  a 
woman ;  the  sense  of  possession,  of  the  power  of  a 
strong  masculine  will  over  the  gentler  feminine 
will ;  the  knowledge  of  the  barriers  that  stood  be 
tween  them — all  struggled  in  his  mind,  like  op 
posing  waves  tossing  him  hither  and  thither  over 
the  ocean  of  thought,  until  worn  out  by  his  con 
tending  emotions  he  lost  the  power  to  sleep  and 
would  lie  all  night  in  wide-eyed,  helpless  exhaus 
tion.  As  the  time  came  nearer  for  his  departure 
his  strong  will  reasserted  itself.  He  determined 
to  pack  his  books  and  other  belongings  and  to  sail 
upon  the  appointed  day.  At  first  the  remedy  of 
mechanical  work  gave  him  some  relief  from  his 
torturing  misery ;  but  his  frame  was  already  too 
weakened  to  endure  any  physical  exertion.  He 
rapidly  grew  worse  and  succumbed  to  an  attack  of 
typhoid  fever.  The  fever  lasted  nearly  two 
months.  During  this  time  he  was  visited  almost 
daily  by  Mr.  McChesney  or  Philip,  and  even  by 
Karl  Klinder,  who  puffed  his  way  up  the  narrow 
stairs  to  shake  his  head  ominously  at  the  thin  face 
and  burning  eyes  of  the  sick  man.  These  were 


106  THE   DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

the  only  visitors  allowed  in  the  room,  although 
many  of  the  inhabitants  of  Medalhurst  offered 
kindly  help — forgetting  all  their  past  suspicion  in 
present  sympathy. 

One  day  Philip  took  a  bunch  of  flowers  to  the 
sick  man. 

"  Flora  sent  them — my  sister  sent  them  to 
you,"  he  whispered,  bending  over  the  pillow. 

Ferranti  opened  his  eyes  languidly,  and  mo 
tioned  that  they  should  be  put  on  the  pillow  near 
him.  All  that  afternoon  he  rested  quietly,  now 
and  then  turning  his  head  to  inhale  the  dewy 
freshness  of  the  blossoms ;  but  hot  thoughts  were 
rushing  through  his  brain.  That  night  he  was  in 
a  wild  delirium.  What  maddening  fancies  gal 
loped  like  iron-hoofed  horses  through  his  aching 
head !  Now  these  pink  roses  became  the  soft 
pink  cheeks  whose  bloom  he  had  so  longed  to 
touch ;  and  these  rich  red  roses — did  they  not 
hold  the  sweetness  of  the  lips  so  far  beyond  his 
reach?  and  the  tall  white  lilies — there  was  the 
stately  full  white  throat  rising  from  shoulders  of 
snowy  whiteness ;  and  the  fragrance  of  the  jas 
mine  stars  that  floated  out  to  his  nostrils  was  it 
not  the  warm,  sweet  breath  of  his  beloved  ?  His 
beloved  !  no  other's,  for  cold  as  they  might  call 
her  he  knew  the  hidden  fire  that  smoldered  be 
neath  her  quiet  pansy-hued  eyes.  Cold,  did  they 
call  her  cold,  his  stately  darling?  He  could  warm 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  107 

her  with  the  fire  of  his  caresses.  He  Avho  could 
check  and  control  himself  to  win  her  by  the  force 
of  higher  laws,  he  could  show  her,  and  he  only, 
the  warm  human  love  that  should  bind  them 
closer  and  closer  in  the  passion  of  eternal  love. 
And  then  he  dreamed  of  the  cool  ferns  which  she 
had  plucked  from  the  mossy  banks  along  a  spark 
ling  brook.  He  would  take  her — he  would  fly  with 
her  away  from  these  puny  offsprings  of  a  northern 
clime,  and  amid  the  tropic  glories  of  the  south 
he  would  whisper  the  glowing  words  that  he  had 
choked  down  and  buried  in  this  icy  atmosphere. 
He  gave  wild  shrieks  of  delight  as  he  figured  to 
himself  the  hopeless  task  of  tearing  her  from  his 
enclasping  arms.  There  were  demons  in  those 
flowers,  and  he  called  on  them  by  fantastic  names 
to  fly  to  his  assistance  when  he  bore  her — her,  his 
love,  his  life,  his  soul,  away,  away,  away ! 

So  imagination,  uncontrolled  by  reason,  dragged 
Ferranti  hither  and  thither,  through  scenes  of 
ecstasy  and  through  scenes  of  torture ;  through 
dreams  of  the  past  and  then  on  to  dreams  of  the 
future ;  but  ever  and  again  his  frenzied  fancy 
circled  back  to  the  flowers  which  he  confounded 
with  his  beloved.  All  attempt  to  remove  the 
flowers  but  redoubled  his  delirium.  That  night 
four  men  could  scarcely  hold  him.  For  days 
thereafter  he  hovered  between  life  and  death.  But 
the  vital  force  was  not  yet  exhaused.  Slowly  he 


108  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

came  back  to  life,  slowly  and  surely  he  recovered 
strength.  It  was,  however,  only  a  poor,  weak 
image  of  his  former  self  that  struggled  one  day 
out  into  the  warm  sunlight  and  the  mild  April 
air  spiced  with  budding  lilacs.  And  it  was  with 
sad  faces  that  Mr.  McChesney  and  Philip,  and  a 
few  acquaintances  whom  Ferranti  cared  for,  went 
with  him  to  the  steamer,  a  week  later,  and  watched 
him  sail  away  to  fulfill  the  engagements  he  re 
fused  to  break. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

DUEIXG  the  year  that  followed  Ferranti's  de 
parture,  the  McChesneys  lived  quietly,  as  usual, 
holding  themselves  somewhat  aloof  from  the  imi 
tative  routine  of  city  life  that  characterized  Medal- 
hurst,  but  keeping  thoroughly  in  harmony  with 
the  literary  and  musical  atmosphere  of  the  time. 
Occasionally  they  would  entertain  some  notable 
guest,  but  for  the  most  part  they  preferred  to  en 
joy  without  restraint  the  luxurious  freedom  of  an 
almost  ideal  country  life.  It  is,  when  one  thinks 
of  it,  a  saving  grace  of  humanity  that  the  better 
portion  of  it  loves  the  quiet  of  the  country.  Even 
if  the  stimulus  of  the  city  is  needed  by  an  artist  or 
a  poet  to  develop  his  creative  powers,  or  by  a  busi 
ness  man  to  arouse  his  capacity  for  work,  still 
there  lurks  in  the  background  of  his  mind  an  ap 
preciative  fondness  for  what  has  been  created  inca 
pable  of  sin ;  a  love  for  the  sturdy,  straightforward 
trees,  the  cheerful,  charitable  grass,  the  brilliant 
free-growing  flowers  in  field  and  wood,  the  crystal 
line  purity  of  the  wandering  brook,  and  the  thun 
derous  majesty  of  the  flying  torrent ;  and  by  this 


110  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

love  he  proves  himself  worthy  of  Him  in  whose 
image  he  was  made  ;  so  that  whether  he  call  him 
self  pantheist,  theist,  Christian,  or  agnostic,  he  is 
by  this  token  part  and  parcel  of  the  good  warring 
eternally  with  the  powers  of  evil. 

One  afternoon  in  the  middle  of  May,  when 
June  seemed  to  laughingly  peep  through  interlac 
ing  young  green  elm.  leaves  and  pink-flushed  apple 
boughs,  Flora  was  seized  with  the  restlessness  that 
pervades  the  atmosphere  of  awakening  summer. 
She  could  not  adapt  herself  to  her  wonted  occupa 
tions,  and,  taking  her  garden  hat  wreathed  around 
with  a  spray  of  wild  roses,  she  wandered  through 
the  grounds.  Though  her  cheeks  were  paler  than 
the  year  before  she  had  not  grown  less  lovely 
through  her  sorrow,  and  in  the  soft  blue  dress  she 
wore  she  seemed  a  fitting  expression  of  the  deli 
cate,  misty  beauty  of  the  day. 

Dreamily  she  noted  the  many  signs  of  advanc 
ing  summer — the  clusters  of  dark-blue  violets 
shadowing  the  bright  green  of  the  fresh-grown 
grass ;  the  yellow  dandelions  starring  the  pathway 
at  either  side  and  shining  under  long  rows  of  Nor 
way  pines,  as  yellow  lamp-lights  shine  along  a 
country  street  on  some  o'erclouded  night;  the 
thousand  furry  catkins  bursting  to  variegated  beau 
ty  along  the  upward-pointing  branches  of  the  sea 
side  willows ;  a  bed  of  tulips  and  yellow  daffodils 
and  overscented  jonquils,  flashing  as  they  swayed  to 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 


and  fro  under  the  warm  breeze  like  the  jewels  of  an 
Eastern  queen.  A  robin  sang  gayly  in  the  branch 
es  of  a  knotted  oak  where  her  nest  was  being  built. 
It  was  a  day  for  love  and  happiness,  and  Flora  as 
she  slowly  rambled  through  the  fields  bitterly  re 
proached  herself  for  her  discontent.  "  Why  can 
I  not  be  happy  ?  "  she  asked  herself.  "  Am  I  so 
weak  and  childish  that  I  must  have  all  I  wish  in 
order  to  be  cheerful  ?  Have  I  no  work  to  do,  no 
mission  to  accomplish,  no  return  to  make  for  the 
gift  of  life  and  the  gift  of  eyes  to  see  the  beauty  of 
the  world,  that  I  must  cry  like  a  sickly  child  for  a 
treasure  beyond  my  reach  ?  "  She  walked  for  sever 
al  hours,  now  and  then  sitting  down  to  rest  under 
some  leafy  tree  through  whose  overhanging  branch 
es  she  could  see  the  peaceful  sky  that  bent  its  sooth 
ing  gaze  upon  her  as  a  mother  glances  downward 
at  a  fretting  child.  But  in  spite  of  Flora's  efforts 
to  hold  herself  in  sympathy  with  the  cheerful  life 
about  her,  she  grew  more  and  more  unhappy.  The 
image  of  Ferranti  was  constantly  before  her  eyes  ; 
now  grave  and  melancholy  as  he  would  sit  before 
beginning  to  play,  now  radiant  with  the  fire  of 
genius  as  he  became  absorbed  in  the  glorious  har 
monies  of  the  master  composers  he  loved. 

When  she  went  slowly  up  the  sweeping  grav 
eled  walk  that  led  to  the  house,  she  saw  her  father 
sitting  upon  the  broad  piazza.  He  was  comforta 
bly  reading  the  evening  papers  and  smoking  at  the 


112  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

same  time  a  long  pipe.  She  went  up  to  him  and 
put  one  arm  over  his  shoulder  with  a  gentle,  ca 
ressing  motion. 

"  Papa,  dear,"  said  she,  "  I  feel  as  if  something 
were  about  to  happen.  I  can  not  shake  off  the 
impression." 

Her  father  looked  a  moment  into  her  troubled 
eyes,  then  rose,  threw  down  his  paper,  and  took 
his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Well,"  said  he  quizzically, "  something  is  going 
to  happen.  The  dinner  bell  is  going  to  ring  in  a 
few  minutes ;  and  after  you  have  shaken  the  dust 
from  the  hem  of  your  garments  and  smoothed  your 
haloish  locks,  you  are  going  to  exchange  your  pre 
sentiment  for  pie — a  game  pie,  too — one  of  those 
fascinating,  but  indigestible  pies  that  will  take  you 
back  to  old  English  romances  and  remind  you  of 
Emerson.  You  know  what  he  said  on  his  Western 
trip  to  a  man  who  constantly  refused  pie  :  '  Why, 
Mr.  B !  What  is  pie  for  ? ' " 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  know  that  story,  for  I  was 
the  one  who  told  it  to  you,  or  rather  read  it  to  you. 
I  don't  care  for  second-hand  jokes  greatly  myself." 

"  You  consider  this  one  pi-racy,  eh  ?  "  said  Mr. 
McChesney  gravely.  Flora  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders  and  ran  up-stairs,  while  Mr.  McChesney,  satis 
fied  to  have  banished  for  the  moment  her  troubled 
look,  shook  his  head  thoughtfully  as  he  put 
away  his  pipe. 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  H3 

At  dinner  Flora  seemed  to  have  quite  recovered 
her  cheerfulness.  Afterward  she  went  into  the 
music  room.  Mr.  McChesney  followed,  took  out  his 
viola,  and  began  to  tune  it  in  a  leisurely  way  while 
he  walked  with  slow  and  measured  steps  up  and 
down  the  room.  As  Flora  sat  down  to  the  piano 
she  shivered  two  or  three  times  with  uncontrolla 
ble  nervousness.  The  soft,  warm  wind  blew  in  at 
the  open  window  and  with  a  sudden  gust  swayed 
the  silken  fringe  of  the  lamp-shades  and  ruffled 
the  light  curls  on  her  forehead. 

"  I  think  we  shall  have  a  storm  to-night,"  said 
her  father,  stopping  by  the  front  window  to  look 
out  into  the  sky,  where  the  lingering  tints  of  a 
bright  sunset  were  disappearing  under  mounting 
piles  of  gloomy  vapor. 

Flora  ran  her  fingers  lightly  over  the  keys. 
Suddenly  she  stopped  and  spoke  to  her  father,  who 
was  occupied  with  a  refractory  string. 

"Father,  something  has  happened.  Signer 
Ferranti  is  coming."  Saying  thus,  she  arose  and 
walked  hesitatingly  to  the  middle  of  the  room  as 
if  uncertain  whether  to  go  or  stay. 

Mr.  McChesney  started  and  turned  toward  the 
door.  No  one  was  there  and  no  sound  could  be 
heard.  He  listened  for  a  few  moments,  then 
snapped  a  string  impatiently.  A  rapid  footstep 
was  heard  upon  the  gravel  walk,  the  old-fashioned 
bell  sounded  a  sharp,  quick  peal,  and  in  a  mo- 
8 


11-1  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

ment  Ferranti's  voice  was  heard  through  the  open 
door. 

He  came  in  carrying  his  violin-case  in  his  hand. 
He  was  browner  and  stouter  than  he  had  ever 
appeared  before,  and  he  seemed  to  radiate  an  at 
mosphere  of  singular  vivacity.  His  eyes  sparkled. 
He  greeted  Flora  gently,  whispering  something 
softly  under  his  breath  as  he  bent  over  her  hand. 
She  did  not  hear  the  words,  but  she  felt  that  in 
them  he  had  breathed  a  lingering  caress,  and  that 
in  the  firm  clasp  of  his  hand,  he  had  expressed  a 
confidence  and  a  hope.  He  had  moreover  about 
him  that  unmistakable  generous  air  which  betokens 
a  man  ready  to  embrace  the  whole  world — the 
poor,  wicked,  world,  that  only  gets  its  sins  forgiven 
now  and  then  in  toto  by  the  man  who  sees  a  dream 
of  happiness  take  shape  before  him. 

Owing  to  Flora's  uncanny  announcement  ilr. 
McChesney  shook  hands  with  Ferranti  in  a  some 
what  puzzled  fashion,  and  then  asked  with  some 
energy  :  "  But — but — where  did  you  come  from  so 
unexpectedly  ?  You  drop  in  upon  us  like  a — an 
angel  unawares/' 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  imply  that  I  drop 
from  heaven,  but  it  happens  I  come  from  a  less 
celestial  region.  I  am  straight  from  Valparaiso.  I 
reached  Kew  York  this  morning,  and  came  out 
here  at  once ;  for  I  had  a  double  purpose  in  com 
ing."  Here  he  hesitated.  Flora  made  a  slight 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  H5 

movement  to  leave  the  room,  but  Signer  Ferranti, 
with  a  stately  courtliness,  took  her  by  the  hand 
and  led  her  to  a  chair  by  which,  when  she  was 
seated,  he  remained  standing,  one  hand  resting 
lightly  on  the  high  carved  back. 

"  However  and  whyever  you  came,  you  are  cer 
tainly  welcome,"  Mr.  McChesney  said  cordially, 
seeing  that  his  guest  was  still  unready  to  speak. 
"  I  only  hope  you  have  missed  us  half  as  much 
this  winter  as  we  have  missed  you.  I  find  to  my 
sorrow  that  I  had  learned  to  depend  upon  one  pa 
tient  listener  to  my  theories  and  speculations.  I 
hope  your  stay  here  will  not  be  a  short  one." 

"  A  very  short  one,  I  fear.  A  letter  has  been 
following  me  from  place  to  place  for  two  months, 
and  it  only  overtook  me  at  Valparaiso.  I  canceled 
all  engagements,  and  left  for  New  York  by  the 
first  steamer ;  for  the  letter  informed  me — of  the 
death  of  my  unfortunate  wife.  She  died  about 
three  months  ago  at  the  asylum  where  she  was 
confined.  By  a  singular  coincidence,  I  received 
at  the  same  time  a  letter  from  my  mother,  an 
nouncing  the  death  of  her  only  brother  about  a 
month  ago  at  Eome.  On  account  of  his  death  it 
is  necessary  for  me  to  return  to  Italy  at  once.  My 
principal  reason  in  coming  out  here  to-day  is  "- 
and  again  Ferranti  hesitated — "  to — well — to  ask 
your  permission  to  tell  your  daughter  of  my  love 
for  her  and  to  ask  her  to  become  my  wife." 


HC  TPIE   DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

This  second  surprise  proved  almost  too  much 
for  Mr.  McChesney.  He  recklessly  dropped  his 
fiddle-bow  and  sat  down  upon  the  nearest  chair. 
He  had  considered  that  Signor  Ferranti's  interest 
in  the  McChesney  family  was  purely  a  musical 
and  literary  interest  in  which  Hugh  McChesney 
himself  proved  the  pivot  around  which  Ferranti's 
thoughts  revolved.  Mr.  McChesney  did  not  pick 
up  his  bow,  but  folded  his  arms  resignedly. 

Ferranti  continued,  his  voice  growing  more 
impassioned :  "  It  was  impossible  for  me  to  help 
loving  her.  Since  the  first  moment  I  saw  her  she 
has  been  to  me  the  realization  of  the  ideal  which 
haunted  me  in  my  music  and  ever  fluttered  above 
me  on  heavenly  wings,  mocking  my  loneliness  and 
proving  at  once  my  solace  and  my  despair.  I  did 
not  think  my  aspirations  would  ever  be  gratified. 
I  dared  not  hope  to  enter  the  lists  with  others  that 
I  might  prove  the  depth  and  sincerity  of  my  adora 
tion.  I  tried  neither  by  word  nor  look  to  betray 
myself.  I  would  not,  if  I  could  help  it,  hint  of 
my  longing  love  while  under  this  cloud  of  unhap- 
piness  that  has  smothered  me — held  me  in  a  vice 
which  has  made  it  impossible  sometimes  to  draw  a 
free  long  breath ;  and  though  there  might  seem 
a  law  of  justice  that  would  free  me  from  the  bur 
den  of  a  clanking  chain  about  my  neck,  I  dared 
not  insult  the  purity  of  a  noble  woman  by  asking 
her  to  link  her  name  with  one  who,  however  inno- 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  H7 

cent  himself,  must  bear  the  stigma  of  divorce. 
But  I  felt  sometimes  that  the  subtle  mysterious 
current  that  runs  from  heart  to  heart,  and  that 
pulses  through  the  harmonies  of  the  music  we  have 
played  together,  must  indicate  my  love,  my  sorrow, 
my  repression.  I  am  free  now  to  say  to  her  what  I 
wish.  May  I  speak  to  her  ?  "  And  he  drew  a  labored 
breath.  Mr.  McChesney  did  not  look  up  or  speak. 

"\Vith  a  tremor  in  his  voice,  Ferranti  continued  : 
"  My  haste  would  seem  unpardonable — but,  I  have 
waited  so  long.  I  must,  as  I  said  before,  return  at 
once  to  Italy,  and  I  can  not  remain  here,  I — can 
not  stay  in  the  same  house  with  her  without  know 
ing  whether  I  may  waken  to  a  new  life  or  sleep 
again  in  the  dullness  of  cold  endurance." 

There  was  a  curious  little  downward  droop  of 
bitterness  in  Mr.  McChesney's  smile  as  he  an 
swered  :  "  But  in  America  we  get  the  daughter's 
consent  before  we  ask  the  father's.  You  will  have 
to  consult  my  daughter.  I  shall  not  stand  in  the 
way  of  her  happiness  if  it  is  to  be  assured  in  this 
way.  You  shall  talk  with  her."  lie  looked  kindly 
at  his  daughter  as  he  spoke,  but  his  step  was  not 
light,  nor  his  movement  brisk  as  he  put  aside  the 
silken  hangings  and  passed  into  the  hall. 

Oh  that  golden  moment  when  two  are  alone  con 
scious  of  their  mutual  love  and  conscious  for  the 
first  time  that  all  obstacles  to  its  expression  are 


118  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

removed !  Ferranti's  face  grew  pale  with  intense 
emotion  as  he  approached  Flora.  He  saw  that 
her  hazel  eyes  were  suffused  with  unshed  tears 
when  she  put  her  hand  in  his  with  trembling  con 
fidence.  He  drew  her  closer  and  closer  to  him  in 
a  silent  embrace  born  of  peace  and  of  the  perfect 
love  which  purifies  all  passion  and  lifts  men  and 
women  to  kinship  with  the  angels.  How  well 
this  moment  repaid  the  nervous  tension,  the  weary 
strain  of  endurance  of  the  past  slow-dragging  year ! 
A  shower  of  liquid  Italian  words,  dropping  from 
his  lips,  broke  the  stillness  as  gently  as  the  down 
ward  flutter  of  a  thousand  ripe  rose  petals  breaks 
the  quiet  of  the  southern  summer  night. 

Swiftly  passed  the  moments  of  love  and  si 
lence  and  happiness  and  murmuring  words.  The 
hurrying  shadows  gradually  filled  the  room,  the 
light  faded  from  the  evening  sky ;  a  sudden  wind 
swished  up  from  the  west  and  clashed  the  tree-tops 
together  with  that  hissing  energy  which  marks  the 
prelude  to  a  thunder-storm ;  the  blinds  slammed 
to  and  fro,  and  soon  the  rain-drops,  driven  against 
the  window-panes,  sounded  a  tinkling  treble  and 
a  droning  base  to  the  irregular  ryhthmic  accent  of 
the  surging  winds.  Neither  Fcrranti  nor  Flora, 
occupied  as  they  both  were  with  their  own  thoughts 
and  with  the  low-toned  broken  words  that  half  ex 
pressed  emotion,  paid  attention  to  the  storm  until 
a  vivid  lightning  flash  lit  up  the  room  and  simul- 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.       H9 

taneously  a  crashing  thunder-clap  burst  above 
them,  as  if  Jupiter  Pluvius  himself  would  so  ex 
press  a  disapproval  of  too  much  mortal  happiness. 

Flora  rang  for  lights.  When  she  sat  down 
again  Ferranti  smoothed  back  her  golden  hair  and 
asked  her  a  whispered  question.  She  turned  her 
face  to  his  in  amazement,  as  she  said :  "  What ! 
play  the  Rubinstein  sonata ;  now,  and  here  ?  How 
can  you  ask  it  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  my  darling  ?  It  is  time  your  fears 
were  set  at  rest.  We  must  be  one  in  soul ;  if  there 
is  any  lingering  shadow  of  disturbance  in  your 
mind,  let  us  drive  it  away  now." 

Flora  still  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  but  she 
arose  and  placed  the  music  on  the  piano.  When 
all  was  ready  Ferranti  came  over  to  the  piano  and 
stood  by  her  as  he  had  stood  so  many  times  before. 
With  the  hesitation  of  true  affection  he  had  re 
frained  from  kissing  her  lips,  though  he  had 
snatched  a  thousand  kisses  from  her  hands,  her 
hair,  and  her  flushed  cheeks.  He  bent  now  above 
her,  drew  back  her  head,  and  calling  her  for  the 
first  time  by  her  name,  said : 

"  Flora,  carissima,  are  you  afraid  of  me  ?  " 

Mastered  by  the  fiery  splendor  of  those  brilliant 
forceful  eyes,  Flora  felt  all  minor  thoughts  disap 
pear  as  stubble  before  a  fire.  "  No,  not  afraid," 
she  murmured.  "  I  know  that  I  love  you.  I 
know  too  that  you  are  the  only  one  who  can  bend 


120  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

me  to  your  will.  But  had  you  ten  times  the 
power  that  I  know  you  must  possess,  still  I  would 
trust  you.  I  am  willing  to  lose  my  identity  in 
yours;  lam  no  more  myself — I  am  you."  And 
the  swift  color  swept  in  waves  from  her  white  neck 
to  her  delicately  veined  forehead,  though  she  did 
not  drop  her  clear  blue-gray  eyes. 

The  great  wave  of  feeling  that  rose  from  Fer- 
ranti's  heart  blurred  his  eyes  and  chilled  his  hands. 
He  remained  very  quiet  however,  looking  long  into 
the  sweet  womanly  face  uplifted  to  his ;  and  his 
voice  was  husky  when  he  said : 

"  So  do  I  reverently  take  your  dear  heart  and 
life  and  soul  into  my  keeping." 

Then,  and  for  the  first  time,  he  pressed  a  kiss 
upon  her  lips.  And  there  came  over  him  a  mighty 
quiver,  like  that  which  shook  the  strong  trees  by 
the  window,  and  he  raised  himself  with  an  effort, 
and  seizing  his  violin  bow  looked  downward  at  the 
rose-red  face  of  her  whom  he  loved.  "  So  small 
you  are,  so  dainty  and  so  sweet,"  he  whispered, 
"and  yet  I  tremble  at  your  power."  Then  he 
began  the  sonata,  and  invested  with  newer,  richer 
meaning  the  harmonies  bore  the  lovers  away 

upon 

The  tides  of  music's  golden  sea 
Setting  toward  eternity. 

Faith  and  love  illuminated  Flora's  face.  "Would 
the  restless  spirit  of  the  past  be  conquered  ? 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Ix  the  mean  time  Mr.  McChesney  had  gone  to 
hunt  for  his  wife.  After  vainly  searching  through 
every  room,  he  found  her  in  one  corner  of  the 
garden  back  of  the  house,  where  she  was  superin 
tending  the  work  of  planting  a  young  Chinese 
magnolia.  A  fresh  odor  rose  from  the  rich  brown 
earth,  and  the  grass  and  flowers  seemed  to  hold 
themselves  upright  in  anxious  expectation  of  the 
coming  rain.  Mr.  McChesney  sniffed  the  grate 
ful  moisture  in  the  air. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he,  "  hadn't  you  better  come 
in  ?  It  is  going  to  rain." 

"Yes,  I  know  it;  but  the  house  is  not  far 
away." 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you — the  gardener 
can  do  that  alone." 

"  Wait  till  this  is  done ;  I  want  to  see  it  done 
properly.  Why  can't  you  tell  me  here  ?  "  steady 
ing  the  top  of  the  bush  as  she  spoke. 

"  It  is  too  important." 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  important  enough  for  me  to 
leave  this.  I  bought  it  myself  this  afternoon  ;  and 


122  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

it  is  just  the  right  time  to  set  it  out  before  a 
storm."  She  proceeded  to  adjust  with  her  own 
fingers  some  delicate  root-tendrils,  and  received 
thereby  a  shower  of  dirt  on  her  hands  from  the 
spade  of  the  unobserving  gardener. 

"  There !  your  ruffles  are  spoiled,"  said  Mr. 
McChesney. 

"  Well,  my  temper  isn't,  any  way,"  said  she, 
calmly  wiping  her  soiled  hands  on  a  dainty  em 
broidered  handkerchief. 

Mr.  McChesney  turned  away  and  paced  steadily 
up  and  down  the  broad  asphaltum  walk,  until  the 
stout  little  lady  made  a  flushed  but  triumphant 
appearance  at  his  side.  Then  he  took  her  possess 
ively  under  one  arm  and  walked  her  quickly  into 
the  library. 

"  What  is  your  important  news  ?  "  she  asked, 
taking  up  a  palm-leaf  fan  and  using  it  energeti 
cally. 

Mr.  McChesney  walked  two  or  three  times 
around  the  room  and  then  gazed  reflectively  out 
of  the  Avindow.  Mrs.  McChesney,  used  to  his 
ways,  waited  until  he  had  apparently  studied  to 
his  heart's  content  each  separate  tree  on  the  lawn ; 
then — 

"  Hugh  !  Hugh  ! "  she  said ;  "  why  don't  you 
say  what  you  want  to  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  hardly  think  my  news  will  suit  you, 
my  dear." 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  123 

"  It  certainly  will  not  suit  me  any  better  to 
have  you  delay  so  long  in  telling  it.  It  generally 
takes  you  five  hours  to  get  out  something  that  I 
could  say  in  five  minutes."  Mrs.  McChesney's 
patience  was  becoming  exhausted. 

"  Well — m — mmph  !  " — the  latter  ejaculation 
somewhat  decisive — "I  saw  Signor  Ferranti  this 
afternoon." 

"  Did  you  ?  Where  ?  What  is  he  doing  hero, 
so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  he  has  a  right  to  come  here,  hasn't 
he  ?  You  wouldn't  keep  him  out  of  the  place, 
would  you  ?  "  Mr.  McChesney  shot  out  these  sen 
tences  with  considerable  vigor  as  he  began  to  real 
ize  his  latent  weakness. 

"  Perhaps  he  has  and  perhaps  he  hasn't.  It's 
just  according  to  one's  point  of  view." 

"  He  is  here  in  town,  and  you  will  probably  see 
him.  I  hope,  for  my  sake,  Josephine,  that  you 
will  receive  him  with  some  show  of  friendliness." 

"  When  do  you  expect  him  ? "  with  ominous 
quietness. 

"  Th-er-the  fact  is,  he  is  here  now." 

"  Here  now !  And  you  have  sent  Flora  to  en 
tertain  him  !  I  never  saw  such  a  man !  Are  you 
crazy,  Hugh  McChesney  ?  "  And  she  started  for 
ward  as  if  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Wait,  wait,  a  moment,"  said  her  husband  with 
outward  bravery  if  with  some  inward  trepidation  : 


12i  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

"  Your  objection  to  married  men  does  not  avail  any 
more — his  wife  is  dead."  And  Mr.  McChesney, 
conscious  that  his  sympathies  were  with  the  lovers? 
bent  a  smiling,  antagonistic  gaze  upon  his  wife. 

"  Oh,  that  is  enough  ! "  said  Mrs.  McChesney, 
sinking  back  in  her  chair  and  clicking  her  fan 
sharply  against  a  table  by  her  side. 

Mr.  McChesney  was  agreeably  surprised.  He 
had  quite  expected  an  hysterical  outburst.  But 
Mrs.  McChesney  continued :  "  That  means  that 
he  will  ask  Flora  to  marry  him — a  poor  violinist, 
a  concert  player,  a — " 

"  But  an  artist  and  a  gentleman,"  interrupted 
her  husband.  "  Besides,  she  may  refuse  him." 

"  Refuse  him  !  I  think,  Hugh,  you  have  more 
penetration  than  the  rest  of  your  sex — but — I  pity 
the  rest  of  them.  Did  you  ever  knovv  a  woman  to 
refuse  the  man  she  really  cared  for  when  she  could 
accept  him,  excepting  in  some  three- volume  Eng 
lish  novel.  No,"  she  continued,  sighing,  "  she  will 
not  refuse  him  ;  I  saw  the  possibilities  a  year  ago. 
Oh,  Hugh !  what  can  be  done  ?  " 

"  If  she  loves  him,  dear,  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done  but  for  us  to  make  the  best  of  it,"  said  Mr. 
McChesney  with  commonplace  philosophy. 

"  But  you  are  glad  to  make  the  best  of  it  and 
I  am  not.  Of  course  it  is  easy  for  you  to  philoso 
phize.  Oh  I  can  not  bear  it,  I  can  not !  My  beau 
tiful  child  !  she  might  grace  a  palace  !  "  Then 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  125 

Mrs.  McChesney  put  her  head  upon  the  corner  of 
the  table  and  began  to  cry  softly. 

Her  husband  kissed  the  smooth  brown  hair 
streaked  with  gray  and  put  his  arm  about  the 
rounded  waist,  once  as  slender  as  her  daughter's. 
They  had  never  entirely  outgrown  their  lover-like 
ways,  these  staid  married  people.  It  is  true  they 
had  their  little  tiffs  and  jarrings  now  and  then  ; 
but  the  tiffs  and  jarrings  were  only  motes  in  the 
sunbeam  of  affection  that  lighted  their  journey 
through  life.  He  comforted  her  now,  therefore, 
with  many  consoling  words,  adding  at  last : 

"  I  have  never  told  you  all  I  learned  about 
Signer  Ferranti  when  I  called  upon  him  after  Ka- 
linski's  dramatic  outburst.  I  will  tell  you  what  I 
suspect  if  you  will  listen." 

After  a  lengthy  conversation,  during  which 
Mrs.  McChesney  grew  more  composed,  Mr.  Mc 
Chesney  suggested  that  they  should  go  to  the 
music  room.  When  they  reached  the  doorway  of 
the  library  they  heard  the  opening  strains  of  the 
Eubinstein  sonata. 

"  What  are  they  playing  that  thing  for  ?  "  Mr. 
McChesney  jerked  out  angrily. 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  his  wife  said  vaguely.  "  If 
she  has  any  more  hallucinations  she  shall  never 
marry  him — never"  dabbing  her  eyes  viciously 
with  her  husband's  handkerchief.  "  I  believe  he 
has  bewitched  us  all,  any  way ;  he  deals  in  the 


120  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

black  arts,  I  am  sure ;  a  lineal  descendant  of — 
Machiavelli,"  she  continued,  bravely  fishing  an 
Italian  name  from  the  chaotic  deep  of  memory. 

"  Cagliostro,  my  dear,  Cagliostro,"  said  her  hus 
band. 

"  AY  ell,  it  doesn't  make  much  difference. 
The  old  Italians  I  have  read  of  were  very  much 
alike.  We  never  hear  of  the  stupid  men,  and 
the  bright  men  were  all  consumed  with  melan 
choly  or  cynicism  or  superstition." 

Mr.  McChesney  opened  his  mouth  to  confute 
this  feminine  logic,  but  the  door-bell  rang  and 
Karl  Klinder  stepped  in. 

"  There  fall  some  water-drops,"  said  he.  "  I 
wass  going  py  and  I  stop  until  the  rain  is  ofer; 
should  I  ?  "  addressing  Mrs.  McChesney. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  of  course,"  she  answered.  And 
she  directed  the  maid  to  carry  away  his  dripping 
hat  and  coat. 

"  Do  I  hear  the  violin  of  Signor  Ferranti  ?  "  he 
asked  with  surprise.  "  Wo  kommt  er  nun  ?  It  is 
he,  nicht  wahr  ?  "  excitedly  relapsing  into  German. 
"  Ach !  the  esteemable  man  !  It  rejoices  me  much 
him  to  see  once  more  again.  He  is  love-worthy. 
You  will  rejoice,  too,  him  to  see  again  ?  "  to  Mrs. 
McChesney. 

"  He  has  come  a  long  distance,"  she  answered, 
begging  the  question,  "  from  South  America — Val 
paraiso,  I  believe." 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  127 

"  So  ?  "  said  Klinder.  «  And  he  play  dot  Rubin 
stein  sonata  once  more,  once  more  ahgen." 

"  Shall  we  go  in?  "  said  Mr.  McChesney  address 
ing  his  wife. 

"Xo;  let  us  sit  hero  until  they  are  through 
playing." 

She  threw  herself  as  she  spoke  on  the  huge 
brass-nailed  sofa  that  ran  along  one  side  of  the 
square  front  hall;  Mr.  McChesney  followed  her 
example;  while  Klinder  seated  himself  opposite, 
his  rotund  figure  contrasting  with  the  severe  dig 
nity  of  the  straight,  high-backed  chair  he  had  cho 
sen,  and  from  which  his  pudgy  feet  could  scarcely 
reach  the  floor. 

As  the  players  began  the  third  movement  of 
the  sonata,  the  subdued  excitement  of  the  listeners 
showed  itself  in  different  ways.  Mrs.  McChesney 
twisted  a  handkerchief  around  her  forefinger.  Mr. 
McChesney  folded  his  arms  with  scornful  resigna 
tion,  Karl  Klinder  took  off  his  spectacles  and  sol 
emnly  blinked  his  eyes. 

A  first,  a  second,  a  third  time  the  expected 
phrase  appeared.  On  swept  the  sonata  in  strong 
purpose  and  fiery  freedom.  For  once  the  climax 
was  reached  without  failure,  •  and  the  closing 
chords  rang  out  unmarred.  The  Eubicon  was 
passed.  Ferranti  drew  a  long  breath,  heard  in  the 
hall. 

"  Miss  Flora  is  no  longer  witt  the  countenance 


128  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

worrited ;  he  is  outgone,"  said  Klindcr,  beaming  at 
Mrs.  McChesney. 

"  Bosh  !  "  Mr.  McChesney  ejaculated.  "  That 
face  was  only  the  result  of  imagination  or  indiges 
tion." 

"  Now,  Hugh  ;  you  are  certainly  mistaken. 
Depend  upon  it,  there  was  some  association,  con 
nected  with  the  sonata,  that  brought  her  face  to  his 
mind  when  he  played.  A  strong  sympathy  exists 
between  him  and  Flora.  I  saw  it  the  first  time 
they  played  together." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true ;  and  the  whole  thing  could 
be  explained,  if  you  choose,  on  the  theory  of  hyp 
notic  influence ;  but  I  can't  think  Flora  has  so 
weak  a  will." 

"  No,  that  isn't  it,  Hugh.  It  is  no  more  strange 
that  she  should  see  the  face  visible  to  him  than  that 
she  should  anticipate  the  manner  in  which  he  was 
to  render  a  coming  musical  thought ;  no  more 
strange,  indeed,  than  that  I  should  sometimes  catch 
the  very  words  from  your  lips  before  you  speak. 
It  is  no  more  strange  to  me  than  a  thousand  other 
mysterious  things  to  which  we  are  so  used  that  we 
take  no  notice  of  them.  "Why  does  the  thought 
of  an  absent  friend  flash  suddenly  upon  the  mind 
a  few  moments  before  he  unexpectedly  arrives? 
Look  at  remarkable  dreams !  There  was  that 
dream  of  mine  last — 

Mr.  McChesney  rose  hastily.     "  There,  there, 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  129 

my  dear ;  I  admit  that  there  is  considerable  truth 
iu  what  you  say,  but  excuse  me  from  any  dream 
theories.  It  is  easy  enough  to  trace  dreams  back 
to  their  developing  cause.  As  this  curious  face- 
appearance  is  a  troublesome  subject,  let  us  keep  it 
in  the  background  in  future,"  and  he  looked  at 
Klinder,  who  nodded  sympathetically. 

"  I  am  sure  /  should  never  dream  of  mention 
ing  it;  but  some  day  you  will  find  I  am  right 
about  it."  A  perceptible  note  of  conscious  mar 
tyrdom  vibrated  through  Mrs.  McChesney's  words. 
Mr.  McChesney  smiled  indulgently,  as  the  best  of 
men  are  wont  to  smile  at  the  woman  who  unites 
in  herself  intuitive  logic,  keen  perception,  and  a 
childish  unreasonableness — a  combination  which 
renders  the  woman  in  whom  it  occurs  at  the  same 
time  the  most  fascinating  and  certainly  the  most 
exasperating  of  created  beings. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  next  day  Signer  Ferranti  had  an  inter 
view  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McChesney.  At  his  re 
quest  the  two  caskets  which  he  had  left  with  Mr. 
McChesney  to  care  for  during  his  absence  were 
brought  to  him.  He  put  them  on  the  table 
before  him  and  left  them  unopened  while  he 
spoke.  lie  began  in  a  low  and  earnest  voice, 
and  he  addressed  himself  at  first  entirely  to  Mrs. 
McChesney. 

"  I  only  wish  I  could  take  your  daughter  with 
me  to  Italy  while  she  is  still  ignorant  of  the  fact 
that  I  am  anything  more  than  a  poor  violinist, 
depending  upon  my  own  exertions  for  a  living. 
She  loves  me  for  myself  " — his  face  brightened  to 
a  smile  of  exceeding  happiness — "  and  there  is  no 
thought  in  her  mind  of  material  good.  Thank 
God,  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  recompense  her 
noble  affection !  But  this  is  not  what  I  wish  to 
say.  I  feel  it  necessary  to  set  aside  my  own  some 
what  romantic  wishes  and  to  give  you  a  full  expla 
nation  of  my  present  circumstances;  because — I 
must  ask  your  consent  to  an  immediate  marriage." 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

"  Impossible  !  I  could  not  consent  to  it !  "  mur 
mured  Mrs.  McChesney.  Ferranti  shot  a  keen 
glance  at  her  from  under  half-closed  eyelids,  and 
continued :  "  In  these  caskets  you  will  find  full 
evidence  of  my  connection  with  the  noble  house 
of  Mantini.  By  the  death  of  my  uncle,  Duke  Fa- 
brizio  Ferranti,  the  family  estates  and  title  pass  into 
my  hands.  Your  daughter,  I  am  glad  to  assure 
you,  will  be  the  Duchess  of  Mantini."  A  little 
sarcastic  smile  curved  the  corners  of  his  lips  as  he 
noted  the  quick  flush  that  burned  in  Mrs.  McChes- 
ney's  face.  "With  her  beauty  and  accomplish 
ments  she  will  grace  the  old  palace  at  Eome  as  no 
other  woman  has  graced  it  since  the  day  of  the 
beautiful  Duchessa  Constanza  Maria,  who  was 
known  throughout  all  Italy  for  her  noble  charities 
and  her  keen  intelligence,  as  well  as  for  her  exqui 
site  beauty." 

A  fluttering  sigh  escaped  from  Mrs.  McChes- 
ney's  lips.  She  remained  silent  however,  though 
her  heavy  breathing  and  burning  cheeks  showed 
the  effect  of  his  words,  and  she  listened  attentively 
while  he  continued : 

"  There  are  some  other  things  I  ought  to  tell 
you,  so  that  all  my  past  life  in  its  most  important 
particulars  may  be  quite  clear  to  you.  I  quarreled 
with  my  uncle,  who  lived  at  Eome,  on  account  of 
my  marriage  with  the  Anita  whose  picture  you 
have  seen.  She  was  young  and  beautiful,  with 


132  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

that  devilish  kind  of  beauty  that  bewitches  a  boy's 
senses  while  it  drowns  his  reason.  She  became 
to  all  appearances  passionately  attached  to  me. 
Impulsively,  as  I  then  thought,  she  constantly 
compromised  herself  by  throwing  herself  in  my 
way  under  peculiar  circumstances.  Finally,  I 
married  her,  secretly  and  under  an  assumed  name. 
I  was  twenty  and  she  but  seventeen.  I  thought 
her,  if  low-born,  at  least  a  model  of  purity  and 
womanly  devotion.  I  confessed  the  marriage  to 
my  family  that  in  case  of  my  death  she  might  be 
protected ;  and  I  intended  then,  at  all  risks,  to  ac 
knowledge  her  publicly  as  soon  as  my  position  and 
means  would  allow.  My  uncle  cast  me  off  entire 
ly.  My  mother,  though  bitterly  grieved  at  my 
marriage,  helped  me  in  every  way  possible,  but  as 
she  too  was  dependent  on  my  uncle,  I  could  accept 
but  little  from  her.  In  less  than  a  year  Anita  be 
came  moody  and  unhappy.  She  implied  that  I  had 
deceived  her,  and  that  she  should  cease  to  love  me 
entirely  if  I  could  not  give  her  the  rank  and  position 
to  which  she  considered  herself  entitled.  I  need 
not  weary  you  with  my  struggles  and  trials.  I 
went  to  Paris,  and  by  means  of  my  musical  talent 
I  soon  began  to  earn  a  fair  income,  enough  to 
live  in  comfort  if  not  luxury.  But  such  a  life 
was  too  quiet  for  Anita.  At  the  end  of  the  sec 
ond  year  of  our  marriage  she  ran  away  with  a  rich 
Russian  count ;  she  left  a  heartless  letter  for  me, 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  133 

and  she  also  left  behind  her  a  baby  boy,  ten  months 
old.  The  child  I  sent  to  my  mother.  I  did  not 
follow  Anita — I  had  learned  to  know  her  too  well ; 
but  I  kept  track  of  her  movements.  Deserted  by 
the  count,  she  became  associated  with  a  French 
duke,  as  low  in  character  as  he  was  high  in  line 
age.  She  used  to  drive  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
handsome  as  an  empress  and  apparently  happy, 
until  one  day  she  took  small-pox  and  was  carried 
to  the  hospital.  There  I  visited  her  and  begged 
her  to  return  to  an  honest  life  ;  and  I  offered  then 
to  send  her  back  to  her  old  home  and  to  see  that 
she  received  as  large  an  income  as  I  could  afford 
to  send  her.  She  laughed  scornfully  at  my  sug 
gestions,  and,  possessed  with  the  spirit  of  evil  which 
had  grown  steadily  beyond  her  control,  when  she 
came  out  of  the  hospital  she  plunged  into  the  low 
est  depths  of  Parisian  life.  She  was  at  length  ar 
rested  in  a  violent  fit  of  insanity  and  taken  to  the 
police  station.  From  that  place  I  rescued  her  and 
sent  her  to  an  asylum,  where  she  was  cared  for  un 
til  her  death.  While,  if  under  any  circumstances 
a  divorce  would  be  justifiable,  it  would  be  so  in 
mine,  I  never  thought  it  right  to  procure  one,  on 
account  of  my  family  name.  I  paid  no  attention 
to  women  after  this  unhappy  marriage,  and  have 
cared  for  none — until  I  saw  your  daughter." 

Ferranti,    when    he    had    finished    speaking, 
raised  the  lid  of  the  larger  casket.     "  Here,"  said 


134  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

he,  "  are  the  jewels  that  belonged  to  my  mother. 
She  insisted  upon  my  keeping  them  with  me  in 
case  of  any  sudden  misfortune  that  might  leave 
me  destitute  in  a  strange  land.  They  will  belong 
to  your  daughter.  I  leave  them  in  your  hands 
now,  and  I  hope  that  she  will  wear  them  on  her 
wedding  day." 

Mrs.  McChesney  would  have  been  more  than 
•woman  had  she  not  experienced  a  sudden  sensa 
tion  of  pleasure  at  the  royal  glitter  of  the  jewels 
as  Ferranti  placed  the  case  in  her  hands,  and  less 
than  woman  had  not  her  heart  been  touched  by 
this  quiet  recital  of  his  troubles. 

"With  quick  perception  he  took  advantage  of 
her  train  of  thought.  He  bent  the  full  power  of 
his  glowing  eyes  appealingly  upon  her,  and  said  : 

"  I  must  go  to  Italy  in  one  week.  You  will 
not  compel  me  to  go  alone?  To  leave  your 
daughter?  It  is  hard  to  ask  you  to  part  with 
her,  but  you  will  not  subject  me  to  the  misery 
of  an  unnecessary  separation  ?  You  have  been 
happy  yourself ;  do  not  deny  me  the  happiness  I 
need."  He  placed  the  casket  in  her  hands  as  he 
spoke. 

Mrs.  McChesney  hesitated,  but  only  for  a  mo 
ment.     "  You  have  indeed   been   unhappy,"   she 
said  gently,  "  but  my  daughter's  happiness  is  first 
in  my  eyes.     If  she  consents  to  go  Avith  you  I — 
but  her  voice  broke ;  she  could  say  no  more.     A 


THE  DOMIXANT  SEVENTH.       135 

teardrop  fell  in  among  the  diamonds,  a  jewel  of 
purer  luster  than  any  iu  the  casket  for  it  came 
from  a  mother's  heart. 

Ferranti  laid  one  hand  upon  hers.  "  She  is 
my  life,"  he  said  wistfully.  "  The  matter  is  in 
your  hands,"  he  continued ;  "  and  I  do  not  ask 
for  impossibilities." 

And  Mrs.  McChesney,  as  she  passed  out  of  the 
room  holding  the  casket,  quietly  murmured,  "It 
shall  be  as  Flora  wishes." 

"  To  you,  Mr.  McChesney,"  said  Ferranti,  "  I 
can  only  say,  that  you  have  been  my  friend  under 
all  circumstances,  and  you  know  all  that  I  would 
say.  You  have  heard  the  rest  of  the  story  that 
I  could  not  honorably  finish  before.  The  busi 
ness  matters  I  wish  to  arrange  consist  mainly  in 
seeing  that  your  daughter's  fortune,  whatever  it 
may  be,  shall  be  settled  entirely  upon  herself  and 
her  own  children.  Luigi,  if  he  lives,  will  inherit 
my  title  and  the  old  Mantini  palace ;  but  a  part 
of  the  property  is  in  my  own  power,  and  my 
uncle's  private  fortune  is  left  to  me  unreservedly 
by  a  codicil  added  to  his  will  after  he  heard  of 
Anita's  death.  This  property  I  would  like  to 
settle  in  part  upon  your  daughter,  if  I  can  do  so 
according  to  American  laws,  before  she  becomes 
my  wife." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHILE  preparations  for  the  wedding  were 
going  on  the  good  citizens  of  Medalhurst  were 
agitated  to  no  small  degree.  Each  envious  spin 
ster  and  unmarried  belle  whispered  to  herself 
that  "  Flora  McChesney  had  an  inkling  of  the 
truth  all  the  time  "  ;  the  elderly  matron  who  had 
sternly  put  Ferranti  in  his  place  as  a  disguised 
Jesuit  shook  her  head  as  she  confided  to  her  hus 
band  her  conviction  that  Mrs.  McChesney  was  "  a 
deep  woman — trust  her  to  procure  an  eligible 
parti  for  her  daughter";  while  the  business  men, 
hearing  of  the  marriage  settlements,  struggled 
resolutely  to  disbelieve  that  any  Italian  violinist 
could  be  at  the  same  time  wealthy,  moral,  honor 
able,  and  sane.  "  McChesney  had  better  look  out," 
"  There  may  be  some  trickery  in  spite  of  appear 
ances,"  "  I  should  like  to  be  pretty  sure  of  those 
documents  myself,"  were  some  of  the  sentences 
that  passed  between  these  worthy  patriarchs.  On 
the  whole,  the  substratum  of  unadulterated  self- 
conceit  that  underlies  all  other  qualities  of  the 
human  mind  at  Medalhurst  as  elsewhere  in  the 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  137 

world  was  severely  broken  up  by  the  cataclysmic 
news  of  Flora  McChesney's  coming  marriage. 
Mothers,  husbands,  and  daughters  felt  to  the  utter 
most  their  own  capacity  to  shine  as  mothers-in- 
law,  fathers-in-law,  and  wives  to  any  number,  of 
bona-fide  Italian  dukes — if  they  had  only  had  the 
chance.  Ah,  these  good  people ;  how  many  of 
them  put  on  the  steel  armor  of  suspicion  at  the 
approach  of  one  stricken  with  poverty !  How 
many  of  them  fail  to  see,  through  their  helmet  of 
distrust,  nobility  of  soul  and  purity  of  heart  when 
hidden  beneath  a  melancholy  face  and  a  shabby 
coat !  And  how  suitably  are  they  punished  if  at 
tacking  a  "  Feathertop  "  of  their  own  creation  they 
find  him  (unlike  Hawthorne's  illusive  scarecrow) 
showing  behind  his  poor  habiliments  the  bones 
and  sinews  of  a  man,  who  routs  them  in  fair  fight 
upon  their  chosen  field. 

Fortunately  the  aggrieved  sense  of  being 
cheated  soon  passed  away,  obliterated  by  a  mild 
feeling  of  self-gratulation ;  for  were  not  the  people 
of  Medalhurst,  one  and  all,  part  and  parcel  of  a 
wide-spreading  halo  soon  to  surround  Strathcarron 
— a  halo  which  would  soon  be  perceived  by  the 
whole  civilized  republican  world  ? 

Philip  was  the  only  one  of  whom  people  had 
the  opportunity  of  asking  questions,  and  during 
his  calls  and  leisurely  walks  he  gave  the  simple 
facts  unreservedly.  One  evening,  while  he  was 


138  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

going  down  the  main  business  street  of  the  town, 
he  felt  his  arm  grasped  from  behind,  and  at  the 
same  time  he  smelled  a  strong  odor  of  liquor  from  a 
hot  breath  against  his  cheek.  Turning  around 
sharply,  he  saw  Kalinski  wearing  a  rusty-brown 
coat  and  red  neck-tie,  and  a  shabby  hat  cocked 
toward  one  eye.  Kalinski,  who  was  in  a  state  of 
maudlin  belligerency,  steadied  himself  with  an 
effort.  "  Is  it  true,"  said  he,  "  that  your  sister  is 
going  to  marry  that  devilish  fool  Ferranti  ?  " 

"  It  is  true  that  my  sister  is  going  to  marry 
Duke  Giulio  Ferranti  of  Mantini,"  answered 
Philip,  gravely. 

"  Duke  Sillio  Fiddlesticks,"  said  Kalinski,  with 
an  oath,  "  how  he  has  humbugged  you  all,  and 
he  has  destroyed  my  happiness  too,  d — n  him ! " 
And  his  face  grew  still  redder,  as  anger  for  a 
moment  dominated  the  effect  of  whisky. 

There  had  been  little  intercourse  between 
Philip  and  Kalinski  during  the  past  year ;  yet  the 
friendship  had  not  entirely  ceased,  for  Philip  was 
warm-hearted,  and  found  it  hard  to  cherish  anger 
toward  one  whom  he  pitied  even  more  than  he 
condemned.  It  would  seem,  indeed,  that  men  are 
justly  declared  to  be  stronger  in  their  friendships 
than  women,  so  often  do  the  latter  use  the  stings 
of  gossip  and  the  cold  shoulder  to  push  an  un 
fortunate  sister  still  further  to  destruction,  while 
the  former,  as  a  rule,  cling  tenaciously  to  ties  of 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  139 

boyhood  or  associations  of  manhood,  and  hold  out, 
until  the  last  moment,  a  friendly  hand  to  the 
erring  brother  whom  they  can  not  turn  from  a 
downward  path.  Yet  one  result  of  this  is  not 
altogether  satisfactory;  for  the  evil-disposed  get 
more  help  than  they  deserve,  while  the  humble, 
deserving,  ambitious  good  are  left  to  struggle 
upward  alone.  That  positive  work  for  good  is 
always  better  than  negative  no  one  can  deny, 
although  a  practical  application  of  this  theory 
often  seems  momentarily  cruel  to  those  who  look 
only  at  temporary  results  instead  of  at  the  great 
general  progress  of  humanity.  Philip  was  no  ex 
ception  to  the  best  of  his  sex.  He  had  gone  often 
to  see  Kalinski,  and  had  remonstrated  with  him 
again  and  again  on  his  growing  fondness  for 
liquor.  But  all  to  no  avail.  Sternly  surveying 
now  the  seedy  figure  before  him,  though  a  pang 
of  pity  shot  through  his  heart,  he  harshly  asked  : 
"  Aren't  you  man  enough  yet  to  give  up  that 
stale  idea  of  wrecked  happiness?  Don't  you 
know  yet  that  a  woman  in  love  with  one  man 
can  not  love  another — it  is  foreign  to  her  na 
ture?  My  sister  never  had  any  special  feeling 
for  you  beyond  a  friendly  interest — never  will 
have,  and  never  could  have.  You  are  not  her 
ideal  of  a  man ;  and  at  present  you  do  not  even 
deserve  my  friendship.  I  forbid  you  to  mention 
her  name  in  any  possible  connection  with  your- 


140  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

self.  If  you  were  in  your  senses  you  would  see 
the  nonsense  of  always  harping  on  the  string  of 
unrequited  affection.  What  absurdity !  To  waste 
your  time  and  brains  in  brooding  over  the  fact 
that  a  woman  can  not  and  will  not  love  you ! 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  genuine  love  unless  it  is 
mutual.  If  your  fancied  love  can  not  resolve 
itself  into  honest,  friendly  admiration,  you  may  be 
pretty  sure  you  are  only  suffering  from  wounded 
vanity  or,  worse  yet,  from  a  base,  brutal  passion  of 
which  you  ought  to  be  ashamed." 

"He  bien!  you  talk  well,"  growled  Kalinski, 
sullenly.  "  Mais  moi  ?  I  burn  !  I  will  have  re 
venge  upon  him,"  growing  excited  and  slapping 
his  breast  tragically. 

"  Burn  ?  no  wonder,  considering  the  vile  stuff 
you  have  been  drinking,"  said  Philip. 

Kalinski  straightened  himself,  assumed  an  air 
of  virtuous  dignity,  and  said  in  a  thick  voice : 
"  Philip  McChesney,  we  have  been  friends  but 
now  we  are  enemies — hie — enemies  I  say.  Any 
man  who  says  I  have  been  drinking  insults — me. 
I  am  a  soldier,  a  man  of  ho-honor,  Philip  McChes 
ney.  Don't  you  dare  say  I've  been  drinking.  But 
if  I  had — what  then  ?  The  old  philosophers  drank, 
old  patriarchs  drank,  apostles  drank;  Timothy 
said,  '  a  little  wine  for  the  stomach's  sake.'  Now 
I  say,  '  a  little  wine  for  the  heart's  sake.'  But  I 
never  was  a  drinking  man,  Philip  McChesney. 


THE   DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

My  heart  is  breaking,  and  you — hie — you  accuse 
me  of  drinking  ?  "  He  blinked  his  red-lidded  eyes 
and  attempted  to  look  reproachfully  at  Philip. 
Then  he  added,  explosively  :  "  No  man  shall  insult 
me,  d — n  it !  A  man's  feelings  are  his  own  prop 
erty,  I  say." 

"  I  only  wish  they  were  in  your  case,"  muttered 
Philip  sotto  voce  and  between  his  closed  teeth. 
His  expression,  however,  changed  as  he  continued 
to  look  Kalinski  steadily  in  the  face,  and  he  said 
very  gently : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  will  you  allow  me  to  walk 
home  with  you  ?  " 

Kalinski,  not  to  be  outdone  in  politeness  made 
an  erratic,  dogged  bow,  and  put  his  hand  on  Phil 
ip's  arm. 

"  Philip,  I  always  said  you  were  my  friend. 
We  are — hie — more  than  friends.  We  are  broth 
ers.  Nous  sommes  bons  camarades,  Philip  mon 
brave,  n'est-ce  pas?  The  world  goes  against  me, 
Philip,"  dropping  into  a  sentimental  whine. 
"  Good  by,  proud  world,  I'm  going  home.  I  go 
with  you ;  I  get  rid  of  the  world ;  I  go  home — but 
un  verre  de  vin — one — but  one — "  As  he  fumbled 
unsteadily  in  his  pocket  with  one  hand,  with  the 
other  he  tried  to  pull  Philip  toward  the  neighbor 
ing  wine  shops  and  beer  palaces  resplendent  in  gilt 
signs,  huge  plate-glass  windows,  and  other  tokens 
of  prosperity. 


142  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

Philip  shook  his  head.  "  We  will  go  to  your 
rooms,  Kalinski,"  he  answered.  Kalinski  did  not 
resist  the  persuasive  touch.  "  All  right,  Philip — 
Good  by,  proud  world — hie — let's  go  home."  And 
he  patronizingly  waved  his  hand  to  the  bar-rooms 
as  arm  in  arm  with  Philip  he  strode  toward  his 
apology  for  a  home. 

Philip,  however,  with  all  his  philosophy,  found 
it  not  overpleasant  to  listen  all  the  way  to  inco 
herent  angry  mutterings  about  "  lost  star,"  "  dew- 
drop,"  "  chartreuse,"  "  maraschino,"  to  which  Ka 
linski  in  turn  compared  Flora,  varying  his  poetic 
fragments  with  occasional  curses  of  Ferranti ;  and 
it  was  with  considerable  relief  that  the  much-en 
during  philosopher  deposited  at  last  the  much- 
imbibing  sciolist  vigorously  in  a  large  arm-chair. 
He  then  stood  a  few  moments  in  the  doorway,  and 
regarded  the  semi-brutalized  man  with  a  glance  of 
mingled  pity  and  disgust.  Kalinski,  putting  on 
the  feeble  air  of  bravado  that  every  tipsy  man  likes 
to  display,  began  to  whistle.  "You  had  better 
take  a  cold  shower-bath  at  once,  and  see  if  you 
can't  get  a  little  common  sense  with  it,"  were 
Philip's  parting  words  as  he  shut  the  door.  He 
went  home  sick  at  heart,  but  forebore  to  speak  of 
his  meeting  with  Kalinski. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  sun  shone  bright  and  clear  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  wedding  day.  The  ceremony  was  to 
take  place,  according  to  English  fashion,  at  twelve 
o'clock.  About  ten  o'clock  Ferranti  came  to  the 
house  to  see  Philip  in  regard  to  some  detail  for 
gotten  by  both,  for  the  best  man,  an  attache  of 
the  Italian  legation  at  Washington,  could  not 
arrive  in  time  to  perform  the  usual  duties  of  his 
position.  Ferranti  stood  talking  with  Philip  at 
the  further  end  of  the  hall  just  back  of  the  stair 
case,  when  Flora  came  down  the  stairs  hastily. 
He  heard  the  swish  of  her  dress  and  caught  her 
in  his  arms,  giving  a  low  musical  laugh,  the  first 
laugh  she  had  ever  heard  from  his  lips.  He 
brushed  his  hand  caressingly  over  the  loose  morn 
ing  gown  of  delicate  pinkish  gray  trimmed  with 
lace,  and  crumpled  the  soft  silk  in  his  hand. 

"  I  like  better  to  see  you  in  this  than  in  your 
stiff  white  wedding  dress  and  diamonds,"  he  said. 
"  You  are  now  like  a  rose — a  damask  rose-bud — like 
the  dainty  roses  that  I  love  and  that  I  will  show 
you  in  the  garden,  when  we  shall  sit  together  and 


144:  THE   DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

breathe  the  perfume  of  the  orange  blossoms  and 
see  the  golden  globes  hanging  in  the  midst  of 
glossy  greenness,  and  watch  from  the  high  terrace 
the  silver  gray  of  olive  grove  and  the  white  square 
ness  of  the  gleaming  villas  melting  into  the  Tyrian 
purple  of  the  twilight  sky ;  and  you,  my  queen, 
my  beauty,  my  love,  will  shake  your  golden  hair 
about  me,  bend  your  hazel  eyes  to  mine,  while  I 
kneel  at  your  feet  in  the  odorous  darkness.  Ah ! 
my  happiness  is  too  great!  I  can  not  breathe 
when  I  think  of  it !  "  And  his  dark  eyes  shone 
and  his  face  grew  pale  and  luminous  with  feeling. 

Flora  put  her  soft  warm  hands  over  his  cold 
fingers  and  smoothed  back  the  hair  from  his  fore 
head.  She  was  now  calmer  than  he,  for  in  the 
love  of  a  good  woman  there  always  exists  some 
thing  of  the  mother-feeling  toward  the  man  she 
loves.  "  I  hope  we  shall  be  very  happy,  Giulio," 
said  she,  slowly  speaking  his  name  for  the  first 
time,  and  turning  away  while  he  held  her  hands 
in  a  lingering  clasp. 

"  Hello,  Ferranti !  Don't  go  yet  a  moment," 
called  Philip.  "  I  nearly  forgot  to  say  the  express 
man  brought  a  box  for  you  this  morning,  and  left 
it  here.  It  is  directed  here,  so  I  suppose  it  is  a 
wedding  present."  Ferranti  went  back  to  the 
lower  hall.  The  box  stood  on  a  large  square 
mahogany  table ;  it  was  about  two  feet  square  with 
an  "  Adams  Express  Company "  label  pasted  on 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  145 

one  side  and  "  This  side  up  with  care,"  on  the  top 
in  letters  of  black  paint. 

"Flowers,  perhaps,  or  china,"  said  Flora, 
whose  curiosity  had  led  her  to  follow  Ferranti. 

"  But  who  would  send  me  anything  of  the  kind 
now,  with  this  direction,"  Ferranti  said  in  a  low 
tone,  looking  at  the  neatly  written  address : — 

For  Signer  Gitilio  Ferranti, 

"  Strathcarron," 
Medalhurst, 
New  Jersey. 

"  Open  it,  please,"  said  Flora  with  emphasis, 
putting  her  hand  on  his  arm  while  the  soft  folds 
of  her  dress  swept  against  him. 

"  Carrissima,  how  can  I,  when  you  are  so  near 
me  ?  "  he  whispered,  bending  back  his  head  to  look 
in  her  eyes.  "  The  perfume  of  your  hair  intoxi 
cates  me.  All  my  senses  are  steeped  in  a  dream 
of  delight;  I  have  no  command  over  material 
things.  I  have  no  room  for  curiosity  ;  nor  for 
any  thought  save  you,  my  little  darling,  my — " 

Flora  smilingly  put  her  hand  over  his  mouth. 
He  seized  it  and  kissed  it  with  a  sudden  intensity 
of  passion  that  brought  the  swift  color  to  her 
cheeks  'and  caused  her  to  step  back  half  timidly. 
Ferranti  gave  again  a  low,  musical  laugh — that 
laugh,  born  of  excess  of  happiness,  which  is  so 
rarely  heard  from  human  beings,  and  yet  which 
10 


146  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

should  be  as  natural  to  us  all  as  the  singing  of  the 
birds  or  the  bubbling  of  the  mountain  streams.  He 
then  drew  from  his  pocket  a  small  silver  dagger 
of  curious  workmanship,  one  which  he  always 
carried  about  with  him,  pulled  it  from  its  sheath 
and  began  to  pry  up  the  lid  of  the  box. 

During  this  time  Philip  had  been  leaning 
against  the  jamb  of  the  large  door  that  opened 
from  the  back  hall  upon  a  large  piazza.  The  door 
was  open,  and  through  it  he  could  see  the  inde 
finable  brooding  sweetness  of  the  young  spring 
landscape  budding  into  life.  The  snowy  pear 
trees  stood  arrayed  in  bridal  beauty  and  the  flush 
ing  apple  trees  dropped  their  dainty  petals  on  the 
soft  green  sward  beneath ;  mingled  with  their 
fragrance  came  the  mignonette-like  odor  from 
the  grape  vine  clinging  to  a  long  old-fashioned 
arbor.  He  had  been  drinking  in  the  morning 
loveliness  and  drawing  long  breaths  of  the  deli 
cious  morning  air,  and  now  he  had  turned  his 
head  to  watch  his  sister's  face  with  a  dreamy  in- 
tentness,  perhaps  thinking  of  the  day  when  a  maid 
en's  face  he  knew  should  blush  for  him  and  he  too 
should  tremble  at  approaching  happiness. 

When  Ferranti  inserted  his  dagger  under  the 
box-lid  and  a  first  faint  crack  of  the  wood  was 
heard,  Philip  started.  As  though  obeying  an  un 
controllable  impulse,  he  sprang  forward.  "  Hold  ! 
Stop ! "  he  cried,  and  in  an  instant  he  tore  the 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  147 

box  from  Ferranti's  hands  and  hurled  it  with  all 
his  force  through  the  open  doorway.  It  cleared 
the  steps  of  the  broad  piazza  and  struck  the  paved 
walk  just  under  a  large  elm  tree.  There  was  a 
sudden  explosion,  a  flash  of  fire.  The  fragments 
of  the  box,  the  branches  of  the  tree,  a  portion  of 
the  grape  arbor  covering  the  walk,  pieces  of  iron 
and  steel,  hustled  confusedly  through  the  air. 
The  panes  of  glass  in  the  back  windows  were  shiv 
ered  to  fragments ;  vases  and  bric-a-brac  splintered 
on  the  hard-wood  floor  of  the  music  room;  the 
statue  of  Wagner,  jarred  from  its  position,  fell  for 
ward  with  a  loud  discordant  clang. 

Philip,  who  nearly  lost  his  balance  in  throwing 
the  box,  was  flung  heavily  backward  through  the 
open  door  and  measured  his  full  length  upon  the 
floor,  where  he  lay  senseless,  his  head  cut  open 
above  one  temple  and  his  face  covered  with  blood. 
Ferranti  had  seized  Flora  by  the  arm  at  the  sound 
of  the  explosion,  and,  with  a  lightning  glance  at 
the  possibilities  of  danger,  had  swung  her  out  of 
the  way  of  a  tall  silver  lamp  that  wavered  on 
its  pedestal  and  fell  directly  where  she  was  stand 
ing.  Both  he  and  Flora  escaped  unhurt.  An 
examination  of  Philip's  wound  showed  a  piece  of 
iron  imbedded  in  his  head,  how  deeply  could  not 
be  told  until  the  arrival  of  physicians. 

A  bed  was  hastily  arranged  in  the  music  room, 
and  on  it  the  young,  manly  figure  was  laid  by  his 


148  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

trembling  father  and  Ferranti.  Mrs.  McChcsncy, 
hastily  summoned,  beyond  the  first  startled  cry 
said  nothing ;  pale  and  stern  she  did  everything 
possible  for  the  comfort  of  the  unconscious  one  so 
heedless  of  her  efforts.  Her  fingers  trembled,  but 
her  face  was  calm.  She  even  paused  a  moment 
to  smooth  the  hair  of  the  bitterly  sobbing  Flora, 
who  knelt  by  the  side  of  her  brother  and  mur 
mured  reproaches  upon  herself  and  words  of  pite 
ous  entreaty  to  Philip.  The  servants  gathered 
sadly  in  the  hall  and  on  the  piazza.  Philip's 
manliness  and  generosity  and  gentleness  had  so 
endeared  him  to  them  all  that  there  were  none 
who  would  not  gladly  have  saved  him  from  danger 
at  the  expense  of  suffering  to  themselves.  "With 
tearful  eyes  they  looked  now  and  then  at  the  sor 
rowing  group,  while  with  light  footfalls  they 
cleared  away  the  debris  of  the  explosion.  The 
bright  sun  flashed  in  merrily  at  the  windows  and 
lighted  the  room  with  its  coldly  cheerful  rays,  and 
the  warm  spring  breeze,  scented  with  the  blossom 
odors,  ruffled  the  hair  of  the  apparently  dying 
man,  who,  save  for  an  occasional  gurgling  groan, 
gave  no  indication  of  life. 

There  was  an  hour  of  anxious  waiting  before 
the  famous  specialists  upon  whose  word  they  de 
pended  could  arrive.  In  the  mean  time  local  phy 
sicians  held  a  consultation,  and  gave  but  little 
hope  of  Philip's  recovery.  As  gently  as  possible 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  149 

the  terrible  probability  of  speedy  death  was  broken 
to  the  family.  The  mother,  brave  even  now, 
smiled  with  divine  compassion  at  her  son  who, 
under  the  influence  of  restoratives,  opened  his 
brown  eyes,  with  an  appealing  glance  at  the  gentle 
face  bent  above  his  own.  "  Mother  !  "  He  strug 
gled  feebly  to  express  himself,  but  the  internal 
bleeding  choked  his  utterance,  so  that  the  broken 
words  that  followed  were  scarcely  caught.  "  Dar 
ling  mother — this  is  harder — for  you — than  for  me. 
I  am  not  afraid.  It  is  but  a  little  sooner — a 
few  years — may  be.  Now,  listen,"  and  he  beck- 
ened  them  all  nearer,  motioning  with  his  hand  to 
Ferranti.  "I  can  not  recover  —  I  know  —  my 
throat — my  head — but  the  wedding.  It  must  be 
— here ;  I  must  see  it.  You  do  not  know.  Send 
for  clergyman  —  and  your  wedding  dress  —  the 
diamonds — " 

"  My  God  !  it  can  not  be  !  "  burst  in  a  groan 
from  the  lips  of  Ferranti.  "  To  take  your  sister, 
when  through  me  you  have  lost  your  life !  Oh,  the 
horror — the  wretchedness  of  it !  I  can  not ;  it  is 
too  much  !  "  And  his  face  grew  stony  and  gray 
as  he  slowly  clinched  his  hands. 

Philip  turned  his  eyes  from  his  mother's  to 
his  father's  face.  "  Beg  him,  for  my  sake — 
mother  !  father !  "  he  said,  with  a  spasm  of  energy 
which  brought  a  gush  of  blood  from  his  lips 
and  caused  him  to  relapse  into  unconsciousness. 


150  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

The  father  tenderly  wiped  the  pale  face  and  spoke 
a  few  low  words  to  the  physician  who  stood  near 
noting  Philip's  pulse.  The  mother  clasped  her 
hands  and  stretched  both  arms  slowly  outward. 
It  was  her  first  movement  of  uncontrollable  an 
guish.  Ferranti  left  the  room  and  began  to  pace 
up  and  down  the  long  walk  in  front  of  the  house. 
Slowly,  minute  by  minute,  the  time  went  by  until 
the  arrival  of  the  two  physicians  who  had  been 
telegraphed  for.  Gravely  and  sympathetically 
they  made  the  examination  on  which  the  trem 
bling  hopes  of  the  family  hung  quivering.  All 
waited  with  beating  hearts.  No  hope  ? 

Oh  !  who  that  has  heard  that  gloomy  sentence 
can  fail  to  remember  how  it  weighs  upon  the  soul, 
binds  it  with  leaden  gyves,  relentlessly  smothers 
each  springing  thought  of  joy,  and,  like  a  vam 
pire,  sucks  the  life-blood  from  the  heart  till  that 
pulsing  center  of  delight  beats  faintly  in  the  dull 
despair  of  so-called  resignation  !  "  Xo  hope  ! " 
Bitter  words  to  the  girl  clinging  to  the  lover  who 
has  betrayed  her,  yet  compelled  to  turn  from  his 
stony  calmness  to  end  her  sorrows  in  the  kinder 
outstretched  arms  of  dark  night-waters ;  bitter 
words  to  the  woman  watching  her  once-loved 
husband  slowly  stepping  downward  to  fill  a  drunk 
ard's  grave ;  bitter  words  to  the  man  who  sees  the 
hard-earned  savings  of  many  toilsome  years  swept 
away  in  one  fell  swoop  at  the  beck  of  some  re- 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 


spected,  mocking  swindler  ;  bitter,  far  more  bitter 
still,  to  the  mother  who  sees  her  first-born  son 
struck  low  at  her  feet,  made  to  lay  down  his  life- 
task  scarce  begun,  and  to  yield  his  lusty  vigor  to 
the  grim  silence  of  eternity  !  These  are  the  bitter 
words  that  make  a  cynic  of  the  maiden,  a  scoffer 
of  the  man,  and  —  God  forgive  us  !  —  atheists  of  us 
all  in  some  despondent  hour.  Yet  whoever  list 
ens  long  and  earnestly  to  the  deep-toned  bell  of 
sorrow  will  hear  at  length  a  sweetness  in  its  dying 
tone,  and  will  learn  the  key-note  of  the  universe. 
"  Out  of  the  strong  cometh  sweetness  ;  out  of  the 
sweetness,  wisdom." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

No  hope !  No  operation  could  save  his  life. 
Nothing  could  be  done  save  to  administer  opiates  to 
soothe  his  final  struggles.  Even  the  physicians — 
grave,  quiet  men  so  long  familiar  with  every  phase 
of  suffering — showed  their  emotion  by  tearful  eyes 
and  unsteady  voices  as  they  walked  away  from  the 
handsome,  noble  face  and  vigorous  youthful  frame 
so  soon  to  be  dismantled  of  its  beauty.  But  one 
small  consolation  could  they  give — his  faculties 
were  gradually  becoming  deadened,  and  although 
he  might  linger  for  several  hours  in  apparent  agony, 
he  would  in  reality  become  unconscious  of  his  pain. 

By  the  use  of  restoratives  Philip  again  re 
covered  consciousness.  His  first  moaning  words 
were :  "  The  marriage  must  take  place ;  it  is  all 
you  can  do  for  me  ;  let  me  see  them  safely  mar 
ried.  There  is  danger — danger,  I  say  !  Don't 
you  know  it?  Hurry,  I  tell  you!  I  will  not  die 
until  you  are  married ! "  And  he  tried  to  raise 
himself  from  the  pillows  and  to  put  out  his  hand 
to  Flora.  "  And  I  want  to  see  you  in  your  wed 
ding  dress,  too — "  with  a  pitiful  smile.  The  older 


THE  DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  153 

of  the  two  physicians,  a  genial,  portly  man,  who 
had  been  a  family  friend  of  the  McChesneys  for 
many  years,  stepped  forward  and  gently  laid 
Philip  back  upon  the  pillows.  "  Everything  shall 
be  done  as  you  wish,  my  child,"  said  he,  in  sooth 
ing  tones.  "Do  not  waste  your  strength  by  any 
excitement.  Trust  it  all  to  me." 

Philip  looked  his  gratitude  as  the  physician 
said  to  Mr.  McChesney :  "  There  can  be  no  reason 
why  the  ceremony  should  not  take  place  now.  It 
is,  as  Philip  says,  all  that  can  be  done  for  him. 
Let  him  see  that  his  sister's  future  happiness  will 
be  assured.  He,  no  doubt,  feels  that  scruples  will 
arise  in  both  her  mind  and  Signor  Ferranti's 
which  may  end  in  their  separation.  Philip  is  the 
one  to  be  considered,  and  let  us  all  put  aside 
every  other  feeling  but  his  comfort.  He  very 
probably  wishes  that  no  more  suffering  than  is 
necessary  should  result  from  this —  '  The  physician 
spoke  very  calmly,  but  the  evident  difficulty  of 
repressing  his  anger,  as  he  sought  for  a  word  to 
characterize  the  dastardly  crime  that  had  been 
committed,  caused  his  voice  to  suddenly  break. 
He  went  up  to  Flora,  whispered  to  her  and  led 
her  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  where  he  gave  her  to 
kind  old  Margaret,  with  instructions  to  see  that 
the  half -fainting  girl  was  dressed  as  quickly  as 
possible  in  her  wedding  garments. 

What  a  mockery  seemed  the  array  of  finery 


TIIE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 


to  Flora  when  entering  the  large  sunny  room  she 
took  in  at  one  glance  the  still  open  trunks  ;  the 
traveling  dressing-case,  with  the  tops  of  the  bottles 
and  backs  of  the  brushes  of  tortoise-shell  inlaid 
with  gold  ;  the  silver  and  cut-glass  toilet-sets  ;  the 
white  morocco  writing-case,  with  gold  monograms  ; 
and  the  glittering  coronet  shining  out  from  its 
case  of  white  satin  and  silver!  Upon  the  bed 
beside  the  wedding  dress,  the  bridal  fan,  one  of 
Ferranti's  gifts,  was  lying  fully  opened.  It  was 
of  point  lace  and  delicately  carved  ivory,  the  outer 
sticks  incrusted  with  a  lily-of-the-  valley  design  in 
diamonds  and  small  pearls;  the  lace  opened  in 
the  center  over  three  medallions  surrounded  with 
diamond  sparks,  the  central  medallion  showing 
the  Mantini  coat-of-arms  painted  in  water  colors, 
above  it  a  coronet  in  small  diamonds  ;  the  other 
two  medallions  repeating  the  same  design  of 
Cupids  upholding  an  exquisitely  painted  wreath 
of  flowers,  within  which  was  Flora's  monogram  in 
tiny  pearls.  With  a  gesture  of  impatience,  almost 
of  contempt,  Flora  took  up  the  fan,  folded  it,  and 
then  flung  it  back  carelessly  upon  the  bed.  As  it 
fell  it  struck  one  of  the  supports  of  the  brass 
bedstead,  and  the  dainty  sticks  of  the  almost 
priceless  treasure  snapped  like  glass.  Old  Mar 
garet,  instinctively  following  her  habit  of  neatness, 
mechanically  picked  up  a  piece  of  ivory  from  the 
floor  and  put  the  fan  together. 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.        155 

"  All,  dearie  !  ah,  dearie  !  "  she  sighed,  turning 
away  to  twist  up  Flora's  disarranged  hair. 

Dressed  finally  in  the  wedding  gown  of  soft 
satin  and  lace,  and  decked  out  with  the  diamond, 
opals,  and  pearls  that  formed  the  beautiful  parure 
worn  in  turn  by  so  many  duchesses  of  Mantini, 
Flora  sank  in  a  melancholy  heap  upon  the  floor. 
"  My  strength  has  gone,"  she  said ;  "  I  can  not 
walk." 

"  Now,  now,  my  bonny,"  said  Margaret, 
picking  her  up  and  thrusting  into  her  nerveless 
hands  the  bridal  bouquet  of  pale  orchids  which 
harmonized  with  the  faint  flashes  of  color  from 
her  jewels,  "  they're  waitin'  now  below ;  the  young 
master  maun  have  his  gaze  of  the  bride  to  cheer 
the  wee  bit  moments  of  his  life.  Oh  waes  me  it 
is,  for  the  day  he  lies  in  the  dust ! "  she  moaned, 
while  a  tear  trickled  down  her  cheek  and  dropped 
on  the  white  satin  gown.  "  But  there,  there !  I 
am  an  old  fool.  That's  no  way  for  us  to  be  drap- 
pin'  tears  noo,  and  wailin'  an'  sighin'  when  'tis 
time  for  work — an'  the  hardest  kin'  o'  work — to 
smile  when  the  heart  is  breakin'." 

"  Oh,  but  it  is  so  cruel,  so  cruel !  If  it  were  not 
for  me,  this  could  not  have  happened."  And 
Flora  threw  herself  into  the  woman's  arms. 

"  There,  now ;  hush,  hush,"  said  Margaret,  "  'tis 
well  I  know  nae  ither  mon  can  tak'  the  place  o' 
that  bonnie  laddie,  sae  strang  and  sae  leal.  But 


15G  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

ye  canna  help  yoursel'  lassie;  you  maun  do  as 
ye're  bid  and  lift  yoursel'  aboon  your  dool.  Ye 
maun  put  yoursel'  awa',  an'  think  to  gladden  his 
een  with  yer  braw  gown  an'  your  jewels,  and  mak' 
him  happy  to  see  yer  fast  to  yer  ain  gude  man." 

-  Flora  dashed  her  tears  from  her  eyes,  lifted 
her  head  from  the  broad  shoulder  of  the  woman, 
and,  shutting  her  upper  teeth  over  her  under  lip 
to  still  the  nervous  quiverings  of  the  sensitive 
mouth,  she  went  slowly  down  stairs  and  stood  at 
the  foot  of  Philip's  couch. 

"  My  good — my  lovely  darling  !  "  whispered  he, 
with  a  tender  smile,  "  it  is  all  right  now.  I  can 
die  in  peace." 

The  clergyman  had  now  arrived.  After  ad- 
minstering  the  Holy  Communion  to  the  dying 
man,  he  turned  to  join  the  living  in  the  bonds 
that  are  more  binding  to  the  unhappy  than  the 
cerements  of  the  grave.  Ferranti's  face  was  cold 
and  stern  and  Flora's  full  of  undefmable  fear. 

They  stood  at  one  end  of  the  room,  opposite 
the  broad  French  window.  The  servants  clustered 
near  the  doors ;  the  physicians  gathered  in  a  knot 
at  the  head  of  the  couch. 

"  Raise  me  in  your  arms,  mother,"  whispered 
Philip  with  labored  breath.  And  leaning  on  that 
breast  which  had  pillowed  his  baby  head — the 
breast  whereon  he  had  sobbed  out  his  youthful 
grief,  the  mother-breast  which  is  alike  the  refuge 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  157 

of  the  child  and  the  purest  memory  of  the  man — 
Philip  watched  his  sister's  wedding. 

The  solemn  closing  words  of  the  marriage  serv 
ice  died  away.  Flora  left  her  husband's  side  and 
kissed  her  brother  on  cheeks,  forehead,  and  lips. 
"  It  was  for  you,  Philip.  I  did  this  for  you.  I 
can  not  be  happy,  now,  without  you.  You  know 
that,  don't  you,  darling?  Oh,  why,  why,  can  I 
not  lie  there  instead  of  you  !  " 

"  Hush — you  may  not  understand  the  will  of 
God.  Time  will  show  you  that  a  few  years  are 
but  taken  off.  a  life  that  might  have  in  it  much 
sin  and  sorrow.  Don't  think  of  my  death.  Flora 
— mother,  let  all  the  pleasant  memories  of  the  past 
cover  the  bitterness  of  our  parting.  You,  Flora, 
have  a  duty  to  your  husband  now ;  and  mother 
knows  her  own.  She  will  bear  up,  as  she  always 
has."  Philip  spoke  with  difficulty,  but  the  broken 
words  were  understood  by  those  whose  strained 
attention  was  centered  on  the  bluish,  paling  lips. 
"  You  must  go  to  Italy,  and  have  mother  go. 
Take  mother — my  blessed,  patient  mother;  she 
will  miss  me — my  mother  will  miss  me,"  he  mur- 
inured.  "  The  place  will  be  too  sad  for  her  just 
yet."  A  wave  of  recollection  seemed  to  sweep 
over  him,  and  he  lifted  himself  suddenly,  crying 
out  with  renewed  strength  :  "  It  is  too  hard  !  I 
will  not  die  !  I  can  not — must  not  die  !  Life  is 
so  fair,  the  world  is  so  beautiful !  And  I  am  young 


158  THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH. 

and  strong !  Is  there  no  hope  for  me  ?  no  hope  ? 
I  will  not  die  !  I  am  strong  !  Let  me  fight  with 
death  !  0  God  !  0  God !  It  is  too  hard  !  "  And 
he  sank  back  panting  on  the  pillows. 

It  was  the  final  struggle  of  the  unresigned 
flesh,  of  the  body  clinging  to  the  spirit ;  the  mo 
mentary  cry  wrung  from  the  soul  at  loss  of  its 
earthly  tenement — the  cry  that  haunts  forever  those 
who  hear  it  with  its  peal  of  ineffectual  anguish. 

"  Forgive  —  forgive  —  this  unmanliness,"  he 
said,  as  the  choking  sobs  of  his  sister  struck  his 
ear.  "  Play  to  me — music  will  help  me  to  be  more 
calm." 

"  Philip,"  said  Mr.  McChesney,  bending  over 
him,  "  you  said  you  knew  the  reason  of  this  acci 
dent.  If  you  do  know,  tell  us.  Give  us,  for  heav 
en's  sake,  any  clew  you  have  to  such  villainy ! 
Speak,  my  son,  while  you  have  strength." 

Philip  closed  his  eyes,  and  an  expression  of 
pain  crossed  his  face.  "Vengeance,  vengeance, 
always  vengeance,"  he  muttered.  "  It  is  not  for 
us  to  avenge  ourselves,  poor  frail  mortals  steeped 
in  sin !  The  man  is  already  punished.  He  has 
overreached  himself.  His  suffering  and  remorse 
begin  with  his  knowledge  of  my  death." 

"  Kalinski !  "  exclaimed  Ferranti,  stepping 
forward  and  clinching  Mr.  McChesney's  arm  with 
an  iron  grip. 

"  Stop  ! "  said  Philip.     "  The  man  is  mine,  to 


THE  DOMINANT  SEVENTH.  159 

punish  or  save,  if  I  can.  He  shall  have  the 
chance  for  atonement ;  and  you,"  he  said  to  Fer- 
ranti,  "  yon  I  charge  to  help  him  carry  it  out.  If 
remorse  does  not  kill  him,  give  him  my  dying 
command — to  live  my  life  as  I  would  wish  to  live 
it-— and  my  forgiveness  shall  rest  upon  him,  so 
good  may  be  born  of  evil.  My  charge,  my  dying 
charge — "  His  voice  failed  as  he  looked  appealingly 
to  Ferranti,  and  drops  gathered  on  his  forehead. 
Unable  to  speak,  he  rested  his  anxious  eyes  upon 
his  mother.  A  violent  paroxysm  shook  his  frame. 
His  mother,  every  sense  strained  to  the  utmost  to 
anticipate  his  wish,  motioned  to  Ferranti  to  get  his 
violin.  Philip  smiled  faintly  in  his  mother's  face 
as  she  wiped  the  cold  dampness  from  his  white 
forehead,  and  he  nodded  when  he  heard  the  faint 
tuning  of  the  loved  instrument.  A  passing  gleam 
of  humor  lit  up  the  brown  eyes.  "  Ferranti,  a  dis 
cord — the  dominant  seventh — no  rest  until  it 
meets  the  sweet  harmony  of  a  woman's  nature — 
together  peace — the  close —  These  were  the  last 
coherent  words. 

Ferranti  began  a  minor  strain  of  indescribable 
sweetness.  He  bent  his  eyes  upon  Philip's  face, 
as  though  he  would  read  each  passing  thought. 
Master  and  violin  were  one.  Never  before  had 
the  violin  seemed  so  completely  the  voice  of  a 
human  soul  struggling,  aspiring,  hoping,  dream 
ing  through  the  mazes  of  its  earthly  way.  Mem- 


1GO  THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 

ories  of  childhood,  the  brightness  of  the  boy's  un 
mixed  delight,  the  glowing  freedom  of  those  hours 
when  quick  blood  courses  in  the  veins  and  nature 
is  one  vast  storehouse  of  treasures  unrevealed ; 
vague  yearnings  toward  the  spiritual  good  that 
seems  to  flutter  away  from  the  soul's  weak  grasp, 
burning  resolutions  to  trample  on  all  wrongs  and 
wake  to  fiery  action  the  passive-moving  world, 
first  rosy  dreams  of  the  ideal  woman  who  flutters 
vaguely  through  the  youth's  dim  thought  to  take 
firm  outline  in  keener  vision  of  the  man ;  then 
the  pathos  of  disappointment,  submission  to  the 
inevitable,  conquering  sweetness  of  the  spirit  whis 
pering  content  to  the  body  tired  of  pain ;  rising 
and  falling  in  magic  cadences  these  emotions  swept 
through  the  music's  flowing  tide  as,  borne  away 
upon  the  ocean,  sweep  a  thousand  shipwrecked 
treasures  to  the  shore.  Now,  like  a  shower  of  rain 
drops  touched  with  sunlight,  rippled  out  a  fare- 
TV  ell  greeting  to  the  sky,  the  trees,  the  mountains ; 
and  now,  woven  together  by  pathetic  chords,  rolled 
out  in  one  shining  web  of  melody  a  mingling  of 
strains  from  the  great  composers — strains  associ 
ated  in  Philip's  mind  with  the  loves  and  friend 
ships  of  his  life.  At  the  mother's  favorite  hymn, 
which  soared  upward  in  clear,  pure,  and  tremulous 
notes  from  the  violin,  Philip  looked  at  her  with 
one  last  gaze  of  unutterable  affection.  His  labored 
breathing  had  nearly  ceased.  The  illumination 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 


which  irradiates  the  face  of  the  dying  at  the  final 
moment  of  dissolution,  as  if  the  soul  smiled  at 
parting  from  its  earthly  casing,  overspread  his  face. 
Ferranti,  with  all  the  richness  and  fullness  of  tone 
at  his  command,  broke  into  the  andante  from  the 
Fifth  Symphony  which  Philip  had  often  played 
and  which  he  had  declared  to  be  the  most  perfect 
musical  expression  of  mingled  sublimity  and  peace. 
Softer  and  softer  grew  each  earnest  note. 

Then  the  last  vibrations  melted  away  in  the 
low  tones  of  the  clergyman,  who  began  to  repeat 
the  prayer  for  the  dying.  One  fluttering  sigh,  and 
all  was  over.  Ferranti  dropped  upon  his  knees. 
But  the  mother  still  held  her  son  clasped  closely 
to  her  breast.  No  sobs  disturbed  the  stillness 
which  followed  -,  no  word  was  spoken  until  a  yel 
low  butterfly,  lured  by  the  perfume  of  the  flowers 
gathered  for  the  wedding,  waveringly  sailed 
through  the  open  window  and  over  Philip's 
couch.  "  It  is  the  emblem  of  immortality,"  said 
the  clergyman.  "  Thanks  be  to  God  who  giveth 
us  the  victory,  through  Jesus  Christ,  our  Lord. 
Amen." 

The  stars  looked  down  throughout  one  warm 
spring  night  upon  a  motionless  figure  stretched 
upon  a  new-made  grave.  When  the  first  bird 
notes  began  to  herald  the  early  dawn  the  man 
arose,  his  clothes  damp  with  night  dews,  his  eyes 
11 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 


bloodshot  and  wild  with  anguish.  He  cast  a  long, 
lingering  glance  over  the  fresh  beauty  of  the 
peaceful  scene.  There  was  a  quick  flash  —  a  dull 
report,  and  the  figure  again  lay  stretched  upon 
the  narrow  grave,  this  time  to  rise  no  more. 

So  Emil  Kalinski,  according  to  his  own  ideas 
of  justice,  offered  atonement  for  the  life  he  had 
needlessly  sacrificed.  His  hot  and  jealous  rage 
had  spent  itself  against  the  unanswerable  fact  of 
Philip's  death  as  the  simoon  of  the  desert  spends 
itself  against  the  immovable  Sphinx. 

POSTLUDE. 

The  shadows  of  grief  slowly  passed  away  from 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  McChesney.  After  returning  from 
Italy,  whither  they  had  gone  to  accompany  Flora 
to  her  new  home,  they  settled  by  degrees  to  their 
usual  duties  and  to  renewed  interest  in  their 
other  children.  Only  now  and  then  did  they 
awake  with  a  start  to  find  that  the  memory  of 
Philip  was  gradually  being  obscured  by  the  cloud 
ing  mists  of  e  very-day  avocations.  There  is  no 
keener  pang  to  a  sensitive  heart  than  to  recognize 
its  own  unfaithfulness  to  the  sorrow  it  Avedded 
with  such  ardor  in  the  first  moments  of  passionate 
despair.  To  such  hearts  it  is  long  before  the 
truth  comes  home  that  the  greater  faithfulness  to 
the  inner  spirit  of  grief  lies  in  an  unselfish  putting 
away  of  all  that  saddens  the  living.  It  is  not  for- 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH.  163 

getting,  this  putting  away  of  grief  into  the  holy, 
still  recesses  of  memory,  away  from  the  noise  and 
dust  of  day ;  rather  is  it  the  enshrinement  of  the 
dead  in  the  precious  amber  of  crystalized  emo 
tion. 

Singularly,  the  weight  of  sorrow  seemed  to  rest 
heaviest  upon  Flora.  Even  in  her  beautiful  Italian 
home,  adored  by  her  husband  and  surrounded 
by  the  admiration  of  that  aristocratic  circle  to 
which  her  husband's  rank  gave  her  entrance,  she 
yet  for  several  years  bore  about  her  the  ethereal 
atmosphere  that  characterizes  one  to  whom  spir 
itual  things  are  nearer  than  material.  But  she, 
too,  is  passing  now  to  recognition  of  the  fact  that 
the  needs  of  the  living  are  greater  than  those  of 
the  dead.  And  the  early  passionate  love  for  her 
husband,  so  jarred  by  the  tragedy  of  her  wedding 
day,  is  ripening  to  the  fullness  of  its  late  fruition. 
She  still  accompanies  him  in  the  best  old  and  new 
compositions  for  piano  and  violin,  and  on  some 
rare  evenings  when  the  grand  salons  of  the  Man- 
tini  palace  are  thrown  open  to  the  dilettanti  of 
Rome,  artists  and  connoisseurs  eagerly  seize  the 
opportunity  to  hear  some  great  sonata  rendered  as 
it  only  can  be  rendered  through  the  culture,  in 
tellect  and  sympathy  of  two  such  amateurs  as  the 
Duke  of  Mantini  and  his  wife. 

But  the  Duchess  of  Mantini  will  never  play 
again  the  Eubinstein  sonata,  for  she  has  learned 


164: 


THE   DOMINANT   SEVENTH. 


that  it  was  the  one  best  liked  by  the  hapless  Anita 
and  the  most  effective  concert  piece  given  by  her 
husband  when,  as  Signor  Ferranti,  he  appeared  in 
the  concert  halls  of  Paris. 


:__*  * ,_ 


&k=z=S=£±=*=#=e=*= 


THE    EXD. 


Date  Due 


PR.NTEDIN    U.S.*.  CAT.      NO.      24       161 


000  544  692     / 


